Undone
by kelly54me
Summary: After the end of the games Waylon and Miles set out to unmake Murkoff. Will they succeed in their quest for revenge? If they do, will it be worth all the pain and suffering they go through in the process? Take note that this is a revolving point of view story, bouncing between Miles and Waylon. M for violence and language.
1. 1, Out of the frying pan

AN: alright, chapter 1 of ? lets hope this works out. Updates will be every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Leave a review if you like the writing or if you don't like it, I'll appreciate it either way.

Also, just a standard disclaimer; I don't own the main characters or the setting.

Anyways, the story:

***Miles P.O.V.***

Running, I took the stairs two steps at a time. Piercing static cries only jump started my heart and drove me faster.

The Walrider had to be close, had to be gaining. At the sound of yet another cry I reached the top platform, the floor linking the two walkways was gone, dangling to the side. Damn it was a long jump.

Goaded by fear I ran for the leap, flailing in the apathetic air I hit the grate with a crunching thud. Forcing myself not to think of the ribs that had to be broken by now, forcing myself not to feel the metal grate against the bony remains of my fingers, I pulled my broken body up. As I did the ghostly form reached me. Fueled by adrenaline I bolted through a dark hall. Weaving through the corridor I came to the final valve I had to turn to complete my task. With all the speed I could muster I wretched it to the side, expecting that thing to rip me to shreds any moment.

The task complete I again went to the dark hall, trying to muffle my steps and avoid the Walrider that must still be there. Again I come to the break in the path, reading for the harrowing leap I launch myself off the platform.

Only to be caught.

By it.

Tendrils of black smoke grip my arms and legs, pull them at unnatural angles, I know that this thing wants to see me suffer. It knows I'm trying to kill its mortal body. I'm doomed, I know it, but I don't give a damn. If this thing wants me it's going to have a hell of a time. Struggling I wretched free of its grasp, only to fall.

How far? Don't know. I'm shaking in air, it grips me again. For the briefest of seconds I see its face, only a blank slate, somewhere in the background I feel my shoulder leave its socket, I fall again. It's toying with me, wants to see me suffer. In the air it catches me by the leg, I tumble, I kick madly, I'm righted, only to fall again with scratches covering my body.

My knees hit the ground first, then those poor cracked ribs. I clatter forward, the only thought in my mind being to escape. Running on bleeding and battered legs I carry myself to the main room, the heart of this terrible beast. There in the pod is still Billy, a gear in the machine, I have to end him. I reach the control panel, slam the override button and have just enough time to spin around to see Billy's body dissolve, sending the clear liquid a murky red. The camera was out, I wasn't even sure when it had gotten to my hand, but I had captured his last frantic moments.

This was it, I was free.

Or so I thought.

The wailing shriek of the Walrider pierced my mind. It was alive. How was it still alive? I didn't have time to look up before it grabbed an ankle and ripped me downward. The camera went flying. I kicked at it, never making contact. It went to get a better hold, I took the chance and launched forward groping for the camera. Only for it to grab my shoulder and throw me back. It was there on top of me, rolling to the side I fell onto my feet. Off balance I dove again for the camera, I had to grab it and get out. I had to get out.

This thing couldn't keep up, it had to be dyeing. Billy was dead.

It again grasped me, this time around the midsection. Retching side to side, I tried to get free, but instead found myself being lifted from the ground. This wasn't it; I wasn't getting ripped to shreds after I should have won. Twenty feet later it spun to face me, still kicking and wriggling long after I thought it would do any good I floated, trapped. It looked as beat as I did, blank face ripped to gray ribbons. I didn't ponder long, my shoulders burned, its hands buried themselves there. Screaming with no shame from the pain it pushed in further, the ghostly body disappearing into my gut. Its broken face drifted from sight, and I swear I hung there for a second in the air. But alas, gravity found me; I plummeted to the uncaring concrete, yelling all the way. I landed with a crunch and heavy crash. My ankle snapped, ribs popped, and my head cracked.

While grunting and reminding myself to breathe I somehow noticed the camera, somehow stood; somehow I remembered how to walk.

Lurching now- not walking, not hobbling, but lurching while I could feel bones shift to places they should never be- I came to the stairs. On the stairs I crumbled, looking down I couldn't help but notice the camera was still recording. Of all the damn things to think about now I go back to the camera.  
>My vision blurs and my mind buzzes as I reach the door to this room. They slide apart noiselessly or at least below my level of hearing. The hallway is still a sterile white, the second set of doors are right there.<p>

I am ten feet away, they open.

There are armed men. Where the hell did they come from? Is that Wernicke? What-?

I get shot.

A wound is in my non-dislocated shoulder. I have not the time to look down at the wound before the other men open fire. Before my bleeding body hits the ground I hear only a whine. My vision goes black. I feel not the ground that is surely below my head, but I hear that familiar shriek. I hear panic fire. I hear screaming.

Then I hear nothing.

I am still in the hall. It's less white, more red. I hardly understand how I'm alive at this point. There are no noises, until I hear fabric shuffling. At the same time my vision pans downward and the floor grows further from my eyes. I realized I must be standing.

That's odd. A lurching step told me I was on the move, but I couldn't feel my legs, or my feet, or my torso, or anything at all. I must have been moving at a steady pace, seeing as the hallway was going by at a constant rate.

In a daze I looked around dumbly, hardly thinking of where I was going. My gaze shifted to the left with me feeling my head turn. I was near the elevator, right?

As I numbly shambled down the hall my memories began to catch up with me. I needed to leave, it wasn't safe here. There were men with guns and, no wait, they were puddles of gore in the hallway. Chris is probably still around… around the air vents and concrete. Martin messed with the elevator, he was dead, not a problem. Trager? Gone.

The elevator was within sight now. I took a step and dimly remembered that my leg was broken last time I checked.

Before I pushed a button the doors slid open. Without questioning it I got in, the doors slid shut behind me and the thing began moving, again without my input. To hell with it, I'm not going to fight it, besides, there couldn't possibly be a second secret lab with another…

Another…?

Oh shit, I forgot about the Walrider.

Thinking back to the end of my ordeal I realized I had a blank spot. I went to lift the camera to eye level, only to notice that my hand and arm weren't cooperating. Win some loss some, I suppose, at least I could still walk. Still imagining the ghost phasing up through the floor I tried frantically to remember where it was. Let's see, I killed Billy, it picked me up, was about to kill me. Disappeared. I fell. Fumbled out of there. Got shot.

Where the hell did it go?

Before I drove myself crazy with the question the door opened with a ding. Without taking the time to think about moving I found myself standing in a wonderfully familiar room. The lobby, the sweet blood soaked, gore splattered, corpse littered lobby. And, could it really be? The door was open. The damn door was hanging wide open and the golden morning sun was shining through it.

To hell with what they say, I was going towards the light.

Or I would have been.

There was a voice, and angry low voice. A whimper. I never got the chance to see anything. All the pain that I knew had to have been there came bursting forward. The bullet wounds riddling my chest spilled fresh blood, my mangled left leg gave out under me like a limp noodle, my bruised and cracked ribs throbbed, the bony nubs that used to be fingers stung as if fresh, every cut, every bruise, every nagging stinging wound I had screamed for my attention. Fighting to stay awake, alive even, I caught sight of a black swarm, I heard the screech that I knew spelled doom. I wasn't dyeing here, not now damn it!

With every ounce of strength that I had hidden away I reached forward to drag my broken body. Only then did I see it. The swarm flowed like blood from my ripped hand.

Suddenly I knew where the Walrider had gone.


	2. 2, Nice Jeep

AN: Ok, Chapter 2 is up and running. Please enjoy and leave a review. Really guys, leave a review. Even if you're just pointing out a typo.

Anyways, here's the standard "I don't own the characters" disclaimer.

***Waylon***

For a moment I was dumbfounded on the ground. There I was laying, showered in blood, covered in bits of Blaire, and smeared with the grime of the asylum. Rising from the ground I wasted no time hobbling to the wide exit.

This was it, I was free. I was going home to Lisa, to my boys. I was going to live!

Shambling in a way that I was sure made me look like golem, I passed military Humvees. Vaguely remembering the armed men that still had to be inside and that the Walrider was near my pace doubled.

I was free, nothing would stop me now.

Thirty feet away was the main gate, halfway there was a jeep. A civilian jeep that I didn't dare question. Hoping, praying, I ripped at the handle. The door clicked open, I was even greeted by the little 'bing bing bing' that signaled a door ajar. Oh thank you jesus. I slid into the front seat and found keys waiting for me in the ignition. Karma was smiling down on me after the nightmare I had seen inside. Just before I put it into gear I glanced up. There, coming out to door. What was that? I picked the camcorder, using the zoom function I took a close look at what seemed to be a black cloud.

In the middle there was a man. A man with a crooked gate, a leg at the wrong angle…

Wait, did he just look at me?

Dear god, he looked straight at me. Realizing the cloud was getting closer I slammed the car into drive, then reared backwards to make the turn. The darkness was too close for comfort now. There! I crashed through the gate.

The car stopped.

Flooring the gas the engine growled, I could hear the tires spin. As I struggled the cloud grew around the car.

No, I couldn't die, not after making it this far! Somehow, above the thundering engine, the spitting tires, the blood rushing in my ears, above the whine that signaled the Walrider, I hear a small thud. Not wanting to, but needing to look, I turned my head slowly. There, flat on the glass was a hand. A mangled, bloody hand that was missing a finger.

Oh dear god.

After the small thud was the lightest click imaginable. The handle. The door swung open. On the other side was a man, standing in the swarm with a leg that twisted the wrong way. It was the man who had looked at me, but telling by those half closed eyes he wasn't seeing anything.

The man half sat half fell into the passenger seat. As he did the light white symbols that haunted my vision through the night again showed themselves. The man in the chair was not conscience, he did not look around, adjust himself, or buckle the seat belt. The cloud slowed from a raging hurricane and well… It sank into the man, strait through his skin and into every exposed cut.

The screeches and visions died, leaving me shaking in the driver's seat. Almost not wanting to I eased the car forward. With the jeep gently crushing the gravel drive, I drove slowly away from the asylum. As much as I thought I'd be yelling in celebration when I left, I feared that any noise might wake up the man next to me.

As much as I wanted to be anywhere but where I was, I dared not leave the car. I knew I couldn't make it far on my gashed leg, and my stomach was bleeding pretty badly. I stole a glance to my right.

As bad off as I was this guy looked worse.

His left leg was attached at the wrong angle, with a nasty kink in the shin. There was blood, both old and fresh soaked into what looked like it used to be a leather jacket. Brown coagulated blood plastered to the side of his head along with a deep blue bruise. From what I could see around the top of his shirt his collarbone was bruised purple. The dark color pallet of bruises stood out on his gray skin, no doubt caused by blood loss. And, oh, god, and the smell alone could kill a man. Where I had only crouched in the sewer, it smelled like he had camped there. More details unfolded the longer I looked, holes in his cloths; knife wounds? Gashes? Bullet holes? Was that broken glass too? I couldn't tell if there was swelling, but there had to be. Last and not least were the two gleaming white bones where there should have been fingers.

I couldn't miss the camcorder tucked away in his right hand. Why did he have a camera too? Who was he? What was he at the asylum for? He wasn't an employee, or dressed as a patient.  
>I grew more worried as I pulled off the gravel road and onto a paved country lane. Easing up to the speed limit I caught a glimpse of an ID hanging from the rear-view.<p>

"Miles Upshur"

Why did that sound familiar…?

Wait a second, that was the name in the email I sent my message to. I had the sinking feeling that he hadn't gotten out of there in one piece.

"thank you for the car" I muttered under my breath, feeling bad for the theft. Driving along the highway my mind took a second to decompress after the stress.

Until I passed another driver that was.

After seeing another human being that I didn't have to suspect of wanting to kill me, it dawned on me how I must look.

I was dressed as an inmate at an insane asylum, covered in blood, driving with an unconscious man, also covered in blood, in a stolen car. I exited off the highway and back onto a small country road.

Now a few miles away from the place of nightmares I put the car into park after pulling over. First things first, I needed to call Lisa. No, first I should get clean cloths. Actually shouldn't I find a doctor. Or maybe…

I had no idea what I was doing.

After deliberating, I decided I had to call Lisa. But I would need a phone, I sure didn't have mine. I looked to my right. He wasn't a patient, he could still have his cell. I didn't want to go near him, let alone touch him, what if he woke up? I had to try, I mean, if the Walrider wanted me dead, why not of just killed me earlier, it's had plenty of chances.

With all the apprehension in the world I looked for the man's cell. It didn't look like there was anything in his pants pockets, so the jacket was my best bet. Lifting the fabric I slid in a hand to look for the device. The leather squelched every time I tapped it, blood seeped onto my hand. I got lucky when I found an inner pocket, but less so when I realized that blood had pooled in it. There was something in there. I pulled whatever it was out. A wallet, not a phone. Regretfully I went back in, this time coming out with a flip phone.

Really, flip phone in this day and age?

Never minding the dated technology I began to dial the familiar numbers that would call home. The keys stuck and the screen blurred, but somehow the signal got through and I could hear ringing.

The three rings seemed like an eternity. It was what? Seven AM? Tuesday? Lisa had to be home.

She finally answered "Hello"

"Lisa! Lisa, I'm free!" my god her voice sounded like a choir of angels.

"What, who is this?!"

"Lisa, it's me, I got out of mount massive."

"Waylon? Where are you, are you ok. What happened, have they been giving you my messages, I kept calling, but no one would answer?"

"It's a long story, I'm coming home Lisa. I'm coming home."

"That's great I have to tell the boys."

"What! I mean, no. You can't tell them right now."

"Whoa, why not. Are you ok, what's wrong."

"It's complicated, I'll tell you when I see you."

"I need to know."

"And you will, I'm coming home now, it's… it's just complicated. Can you wait for me?"

"I'll take the day off." She was my rock, always there when I needed her.

"Good, just take the boys to school"

"Fine, but I need to know everything"

"You will, I'm coming home. I'll tell you everything."

"You'd better. I love you."

"I love you too. I'll see you soon"

I hung up the beaten phone. Lisa knew I was coming and I knew Murkoff hadn't done anything to her while I was locked up. That was one thing off my to do list.

I looked down to the wallet, which I had set in the middle console. Picking it up I debated going through it. The guy next to me had a right to privacy, right? It wasn't like I had literally just gone through his pockets. Glancing to my right to make sure he was still out I opened up the wallet. It was pretty waterlogged, a few stained bills sat inside, a couple of plastic cards, debit, gift card, drivers license.

Oh, hey. There was a name on the license.

Miles Upshur

I looked back to the dangling press pass.

Well, I found Miles.

Knowing now that at least the car wasn't stolen, I turned around in the driver's seat, wincing as the gash in my stomach stretched I checked the back seat for anything useful. I couldn't help but feel a little bit bad for going through his things.

A flashlight, an umbrella, rain poncho, a duffle bag…

Pulling the bag up I set it in my lap and began rummaging around. Inside were spare workout cloths, dirty sweats and a hoodie. At least I had a change of clothes now. Getting a little bit braver I turned the car off and went to check the trunk.

It was more of the same, a few mud stains here and there, but otherwise clean. A tire iron lay flat in the center, a portable air compressor was there as well, to the left sat a tiny first aid kit. I grabbed at it without hesitation. It wasn't the best thing in the world, holding only Band-Aids, gauze, rubbing alcohol, a little bottle of aspirin, and an ace bandage.

After taking off the asylum shirt I got a better look at the knife wound. It oozed a little every time I moved, and I knew I couldn't leave it to weep. I picked up the rubbing alcohol. This was going to hurt.

Opening the clear bottle I poured just enough to clear away the blood that was there. The stinging happened almost before the liquid touched my skin. Doubling over I fought to stay upright, thin red liquid raced down my pants and onto the ground.

Now that I could see the cut more clearly I could tell that it was relatively clean. Not jagged but deep. Ripping the gauze I laid it over the gash in strips, then wrapped the ace bandage over them to hold everything in place. Finally I put on the gray hoodie from the bag. Next I treated my leg. Peeling off the pants from the asylum I sat on the back of the car and looked at the wound. This was more jagged, but bleeding less than my stomach. Once more pouring alcohol on the cut I winced. Having no more ace bandages I resorted to wrapping the remaining gauze around my ankle and tying it in place. The sweat pants replaced those from the asylum.

Only after I was done with the first aid did I see the little bottle of water hiding in the corner. Grabbing it I greedily drank half, then used the rest of it to clean my face.

Throwing the stained clothes and trash back into the trunk I limped back to the driver's side door. Just before I got in I realized that Miles was still painfully visible to anyone we might drive past. Sighing I thought for a moment, standing in pain by the car. Going to the passenger side I opened the door. For a moment all I could do was look at how beaten and battered he was. Taking a moment I opened the back door and grabbed the rain poncho. Laying it over Miles I got it to cover everything below the shoulders. Knowing that the worst of it was hidden from any eyes I might drive by I was about to shut the door when I realized that the bruised half of his head was plainly visible. Really not wanting to do it I nudged his head to the side.

First I gave a light tape, then a second one. When there was no response I gently pushed his head to the left, so that the bruise was facing the head rest. Thinking to myself that he just looked like he was asleep I hobbled back to the driver side. Putting the car into drive I pulled back into the high way.

I was going home, and nothing was stopping me now.


	3. 3, Hello Friend

AN: Hello, and here is chapter 3. While I usually spend these AN's begging for reviews I would like to take a minute to thank Hana-chan98 for being generally awesome and leaving some feed back. I am still desperate for reviews though, so if anyone sees something in here they want to comment on (even if you're just pointing out a typo) please leave a review.

I still don't own any of the characters or the setting. Also, this is the last chapter that will be rated T. After this this things get a little more swear heavy and while it doesn't bother me I realize some people might have a problem, so after this the story will be rate M.

Now that I'm done talking, please enjoy this chapter.

***Miles***

It was dark, but I could see.

I could see, but I couldn't move.

Struggling, I looked wildly from side to side. I could see my hand, buried in… a wall? Some strange wall, made of smoke and solid darkness. Just like everything else.

It was dark, everything was black, but I could see.

Fighting against the wall that held me prison I was interrupted by a sound.

...

Not a sound, no, definitely not noise, but a word all the same.

.._mmMaahh_….

Looking up wildly I saw nothing before me, only the dark expanse. Doubling my effort I wretched at the wall.

…_.mmmMiless…_

Redoubling my efforts, panicking I thrashed at the smoke that clung weightlessly to my body.

_Don't move Miles_

"To hell with that!" I screamed, trying in vain to move, like a fly stuck in glue.

This time there was noise, not words, but tangible noise. The wall was slithering under me, branches grew out, only to wrap around my chest and push through the wounds and into my flesh. As I screamed in renewed hot pain the voice that did not exist began again.

_Do not fight me_

Ignoring it I continued my struggle.

_If you do you will die._

I didn't want to die. But I wasn't listening to this thing

_I don't want you to die_

Between ragged breaths I panted "Could of fooled me"

_Dying hurts and finding a new host is difficult._

Out of breath I knew that I couldn't fight it physically. Snarking was all I had left

"What's the matter, not enough nut jobs sealed in a can? You have to start outsourcing?"

_You killed my last host. That hurt. But now I am here and that one is all but forgotten._

I tried to squirm, fearing that I was about to get squashed like a bug and that the Walrider wasn't so quick to forgive and forget.

"Where the hell am I?"

This time there was no response of words, but instead the darkness began to drift aside to reveal the inside of a car. Specifically the inside of my car.

I hadn't opened my eyes though, not by a long shot. I was still there in the dark, it was like looking at a TV screen that transmitted information from my eyes.

It was the inside of my car, I was looking at the driver's seat. Who was that? Blond, medium build, wearing my gym clothes. Worst case scenario he was a patient and I was screwed. A slightly less terrible option was that he had worked at Mount Massive, in which case I was probably still screwed. Past him and out the window I could see the scenery flashing by, in the bottom corner of 'the screen' was the center console with my cell and wallet. The camera was nowhere in sight.

_We are free_

The sentiment made me want to hurl. After my night in hell I wasn't free. Not while I had the devil on my back.

_We are free, and we will live, should you allow it._

"Great, don't tell me we're going to strike up some Faustian bargain"

_Faustian?_ There was an eerie pause_ No, there will be no bargaining. I can only keep us from death if you keep from breaking our body._

"You mean my body, you're just here on vacation." Like I said, snarking was the only thing I had left.

The silence seemed to be asking a question, but whatever it might have been never reached my ears. Instead the Walrider continued on as if I had said nothing.

_How fun this will be. The things we will see, the things we will do._

"I've seen your idea of fun, you can count me out."

_That in the building was boring. There was no sport. Men with no minds do not fear, they do not scream in horror. There is no sport in killing what is already dead._

"Like I said, you can count me out."

_You will change your mind, you will see._

My skin was set crawling again.

"Fat chance"

Silence teamed up with the shadow wall and threatened to crush me. After what I swore were a couple of eternities the Walrider gave an ultimatum: _do not break what I cannot repair_

My screen of vision cut off, only the dark expanse remained. The wall still clung to my bones and tethered my body.

As if it were never there the blackness of the dream drifted away and what had been a screen now greeted my eyes.

I was in my car. The air conditioning blew softly and the radio was low and still on the same channel. As I breathed in the cool air my swollen chest swelled and I gave a slight cough.

The driver flinched, yelped, did a little somersault, and jerked the wheel to the left. My jeep speed uncomfortably and skidded to the side before stopping safely on the shoulder of the road.  
>Every bone in my body ached. If my dear pal and roommate the Walrider said it'd keep me alive, he was doing a hell of a job. I felt like I'd been skinned, covered in salt, shot a couple of times, and used as a crash test dummy. But, then again I suppose I could be dead, so...<p>

Distracted by the pain I almost forgot about the guy driving my car.

"Oh god, don't kill me!" he was shouting and babbling something else that didn't quite make sense to my ears.

The lights were a bit too bright and this guy was really loud.

"Shut up" my voice was a bit more gravely than usual, probably from all the screaming and panting.

To his credit he quieted down. I took a second to right myself in the chair, fighting the pain to sit upright.

"Who are you" I needed to make sure this guy was at least somewhat sane.

"I-I'm Waylon. Park. Waylon Park."

"Where are we? Why are you driving my car?"

"I, uh. Please don't be mad."

"I don't have enough energy for that. You're not a patient are you?" that would be just great.

He took a second to answer. "No."

I'm pretty sure he was lying. Oh well.

"Why are you in my gym clothes?"

"I. It's a long story. I'm sorry."

This was going nowhere fast "I'm not about to go anywhere soon."

For a second he looked like he was debating himself, only to lose and blurt out "How are you alive?"

"What?"

He kept talking even though it was obvious he didn't want to "The Walrider. I saw it. I know you know what it is. How did. I mean why aren't-" he stopped himself.

I slumped back against the passenger seat, noticing that Waylon flinched every time I moved. Sitting in the car with a rain poncho stuck to me for some reason I experimentally moved my arms, finding that it hurt like hell but was plausible. My camera was still in my hand.

I spoke without looking up from the camera in my hands. "I saw some weird shit while I was in there. I'm pretty sure you did too… How do you know what the Walrider is?"

Still fidgeting with the wheel he spoke in short bursts. "I… worked, as an IT specialist. I-I used to, make sure the machines worked? Ya, well I didn't like what was going on, and um… when I tried to tell someone they locked me up. Ah, I… What exactly did you see?"

Good to see he was capable of talking, if really twitchy. "I saw everything," There was a background buzz in my ears "and I mean everything"

"Oh. Um, Sorry? What, why were you there? In the Asylum I mean?"

"See the press pass dangling there? I'm a reporter, got a tip that there was some bullshit being pulled, and I went to expose it."

He became very quiet, thinking that I didn't have much to lose I pressed the conversation forward.

"So, why don't you ask the question you really want to?"

"What?"

"You know what I mean, go on, it's not like I'm going to go ape shit if you say something I don't like"

It looked like he shrunk an inch or two. "So, ah. The Walrider, is it, um, well you know, here?"

The buzzing my ear had died down to the edge of hearing. "ya, barely, but ya."

We drove on in silence for a while.

I broke it first "can you crack a window?"

"Hm? Oh, sure"

The window went down a few inches.

"So, where're we going?"

"What? Oh. Um…"

"Where are we going Waylon?"

"Boulder."

"That's a big city, where?"

"Oh, you know"

"mmmm, no I don't. Look, if its somewhere you don't want me to be, I get it. We don't know each other, I mean it's not like I'm on deaths door and am in desperate need of medical attention or anything."

"I…." he looked guiltier than I thought my comment should have made him, I hadn't realized I laid it on so thick. "ok. We're going to my house, but you can't stay there for long."

"Fair enough."

Another silence settled down in the car, interrupted only by the wind, the soft radio, and the distant buzzing in my ears.


	4. 4, Welcome Home

AN: Short note this time. First off, thank you Hana-chan98 and EcoSeeker247 for reviewing (reader feedback means alot to me as a writer) and secondly, the next chapter will be up on Monday. Please enjoy this in the meantime.

***Waylon***  
>Dear god, there was no way I could explain this to Lisa. And Miles, oh he terrified me. No, I shouldn't be shivering like I am, he seemed to be not too horrible. But maybe that's just what the Walrider wants me to think. No, I shouldn't be thinking like that, I'd just make me too paranoid to do any good. But I still can't help but wonder how much of the past Miles is talking and how much is… new.<p>

Glancing back over I saw that he'd drifted back into unconsciousness. In some ways it made me feel safer, in others, not so much.

I had gotten to the suburb in which I lived. The house was less than five minutes away, I was starting to get light headed from the blood loss and I couldn't imagine how I was going to explain this to Lisa. Pulling into the neighborhood I decided that I'd just have to show her the film, no matter how terrible it was. Sighing at the thought I grabbed the nearly dead cell and dialed home again.

The phone was picked up quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hey Lisa, I'm nearly home, I just turned onto 6th street"

"Oh, good. I'll see you soon" there was an odd quality to her voice, she sounded too stiff.

"Are you ok? I'll be home soon" I had only that to say as a meager offering.

"I am fine, see you soon"

"…right. See you soon. I love yo-"

Halfway between the word the phone cut off, there was a ultra-familiar sinking feeling in my gut, as if all my innards had turned to mud and were trying to escape from the bottoms of my feet.

I pulled into the driveway of our three bed two bath home, complete with a reasonable kitchen and a backyard occupied by a half built tree house.

"Hey Miles…"

It was nearly unsettling the way he woke up, simply opening his eyes without any other movement, almost like a computer screen flashing to life an instant before the fans started whirring.

"We're here"

"Oh, ok" at this point he was blinking himself awake while I unbuckled and stepped from the driver's seat.

The outside of the house looked picturesque, like it was cut out of homes and gardens, Lisa had worked long hours to make it get the look just right. It was right before I was about to take a step that I heard a very distinct: "ow! Mother fucker!" from the side of the car. Walking there I realized that Miles was trying to stand, unable to put weight on his twisted leg.

"A little help here?" Miles looked up at me.

I didn't really want to touch him, partly because of the blood, of the grime and the gore, but mostly because of the Walrider.

Despite that, I answered "sure" and limped over.

We used each other as stands, each of us using our good legs to move at a snail's pace.

"I hope you don't have nosy neighbors" Miles sounded like he was trying and failing to crack a joke.

"No, mostly just retirees."

We limped on, when we got to the door I found it unlocked. Lisa didn't leave the door unlocked. Swallowing my apprehension I swung the door open.

"Lisa?"

"Didn't tell me you had a lady friend." Miles muttered from my side

I was too busy to reply. The living room was dark. That couldn't be right, she had just been here, had to be. She answered the phone. There was a low pitched hum. The phone sat knocked off the receiver.

"Lisa?" I called a little louder.

There was a thump and a shuffle from the hallway.

"Lisa!" I took a step, inadvertently pulling Miles off balance.

I could hear rustling and thumping, the sounds of a struggle. Completely forgetting Miles I hobbled to the hallway.

Halfway there there was a softer thud, someone muttering "shit", and then silence. Before I reached the corridor a shadow stepped from around the corner.

Things became too surreal for me. There Lisa hung limp in the arm of a man in a polo shirt and shorts. Face swollen and bruising she stood like a slumped over rag doll.

"Oh, well this embarrassing." The fucker in the polo shirt was too casual.

"Put her down!" running of my ripped leg I flailed at the man.

"Sure" he let his arm slack and Lisa slid to the ground.

I had never punched a man and I'm not a very good fighter. But this man deserved the worst that I could give him. With all the strength left in my body I swung at him. He grabbed my arm mid-movement, next thing I knew my back slammed against the wall, my breath flying far away from me.

"Hmm. I was only supposed to rough her up so she'd get off Murkoffs back, but something tells me that you aren't supposed to be here."

Butting at the man I felt my knee come into contact with something soft. Just over his shoulder I saw Lisa in a quivering lump. I wasn't dying here, not after fighting so hard to come home!

"Little fucker, that hurt!" he slammed a fist into my face and crushed my throat with a brutish arm. Wriggling my legs and trying to escape my panic only increased. White sigils, faint now, painted my vision. With shaking hands I clawed at the arm. I needed to scream, to vomit maybe. White sigils, dark tendrils, and screeching.

Could the man not hear it? Again I kneed his gut, again my face was crushed. For a moment the man loosened his grip on my throat. My eyes grew wide with fear.

"Damn pansy," the man went on "I hit you a couple of times and you forget how to talk?"

He shook me

"C'mon, say something!"

Any words I might have stayed in my throat, afraid to come out.

Behind him the darkness congealed into a figure. It seemed different, slower, more deliberate than before. The burning images clouded my vision but they did not shield me from what happened next.

The Walrider reached for the man, snaking around his shoulders to pull him off me and into its withering mass.

I did not get released. For his very life the man held on. I don't know if he knew about the project, either way his terror was real.

I did not get released. The Walrider pulled at the man's flesh but it did not shred and rip its victim. No this was much worse. His skin flaked away like it was blown by a sand blaster in slow motion. Layers of muscle and bone greeted my shaded living room. I was only released by virtue of the man's hands becoming vapor. Slumping to the ground I crawled to Lisa. Trying in vain to shield her I couldn't look away from the grisly spectacle.

The arms drifted into a lazy haze. Shrieks escaped from the man's lips. I could see him trying to escape, with each layer of his doomed body drifting away I could see muscles staining for freedom. I almost wished for the shower of gore that I had seen before, at least that was over quickly.  
>The Walrider didn't even move, instead it stood like deaths own shadow and ripped -no, disintegrated- the man. Any shuddering slivers of bone and tears of flesh were gone from view before the man's final screams had died.<p>

Now laying on top of Lisa I locked gazed with the still form of the Walrider. It was different, less twitchy, more solid. It seemed to solid, too deep in color, only in the back of my head did I realize that this was because it still held rain-like droplets of the man's blood.

It took a step forward.

Pushing Lisa back I felt the despair of the day crash down on me. I had brought this thing into my house I had sent Miles to the asylum in the first place, this was all my fault, I should have-

"Hey!" a ragged broken whisper of a voice yelled. "Ya, You!"

The Walrider's blank face looked over a shoulder

"ya, that's right, over here."

What the hell was he doing?

The solid shadow turned fully away from Lisa and me despite having us in a corner. Miles in the meantime lay on the ground, leaking blood and god knows what else on my carpet.

"You heard me" a cough carrying bile and saliva interrupted the labored speech "get back here or I'll kick the bucket, then you're screwed too"

To my amazement and horror it drifted back to a vapor form. Seeming more red than I remembered it being, the mist gathered around Miles. The haze formed ribbons, all of them sliding through holes and gashes in Miles's body. He grunted and strained in pain, at any other point in my life I would have looked away, but now my gaze was locked in place.

The fiasco was over in seconds. In the quiet stillness I was treated to the sight of a blob made up of powdered bone and putrid flesh that was the man in a polo shirt. No furniture had been overturned, save for the one grisly pile the house looked undisturbed, which only made it worse. I felt Lisa quivering behind me.

"Lisa! Lisa its ok!"

As I reached out to hold her she slapped me. Hard. Across the face.

"ow! what was that-"

Then she latched onto me for dear life. I held her in return. The minutes passed with us together, until my grip loosened. She looked up and into my eyes

"Waylon," she saw the bruise already forming on my face "What… you need ice for that."

She stood, her eyes focused on nothing in particular.

"Lisa, wait" grabbing her hand I couldn't stop a tremor from the pain that permeated my body.

"Lisa, are you ok?"

She took in a shuddering breath. I knew she didn't want to cry, I could see her holding it back, "What just happened?"

I took a second to steady myself, "You might want to sit down for this…"


	5. 5, Kitchen Surgery

AN: I would say happy Monday, but no such thing exists. To makeup for the fact that it is a Monday, here's an extra long chapter. Also, I'd like to thank my reviewers, and I'm taking heed of a suggestion; whenever Miles and the Walrider are doing a thought conversation Miles will be in **bold, **things will be easier to follow that way.**  
><strong>

***Miles***

_I'm back._

**Well, I should count my lucky stars.**

This time I was still awake, somehow. I couldn't hear much, my vision was blurred too. Waylon was in a heap on the ground, saying I don't know what to…. Liz, Lisa? Ya, Lisa, that's the name.

There on the floor I could feel a strange sort of numb spread over my limbs and into my torso.

**What the hell do you think you're doing?**

_making sure you don't rip yourself to shreds trying to move_

**How considerate.**

Whether I could feel my wounds or not I knew they had to be bleeding terribly. Looking to my right I found that my fear of bleeding out wasn't actually that big of a problem. My missing ring finger wasn't dripping or pooling blood onto the abused carpet. Instead the fluids sort of just, stopped. It seemed like a cheesy cut away medical diagram happening in real time, with the muscle exposed and little veins and capillaries visible but still functioning as if nothing were amiss.

I realized that I was in no danger of bleeding out. Despite the little bit of relief that thought brought with it it dawned on me that it was freaky as hell to have literal holes in your body and not spill a drop of blood. After taking a moment to really let that sink in I glanced up- I couldn't move my head at this point- and saw that Waylon and Lisa had moved into the kitchen.

Well, never mind me I'm just a dying or possibly dead man on the living room carpet.

Over the kitchen counter I could see Waylon desperately trying to explain something only to pull out a camcorder. When did he get my camera? I could have sworn I tucked it back into my coat pocket before leaving the- oh wait never mind. That one wasn't nearly as beaten and abused as mine.  
>Waylon held what must have been his own camcorder in his hands. I could see light flickering off their faces that must have been from the screen. I still couldn't hear anything, but the look of horror on Lisa's face and the sort of green look people get when they're seasick on Waylon's told me everything I needed to know about what was on that camera.<p>

With a little sigh of resignation I thought to the Walrider; "I can't stay on the ground forever"  
>Just as I did I stood without telling myself to move. I walked over to the counter, only to realize it was a bar complete with stools. Sitting on the nearest stool I found myself directly in front of Waylon and company.<p>

"_I hate to interrupt_-" I stopped talking after hearing that my voice most definitely didn't sound like it should. It took me a second to realize that the Walrider being responsible for my moving around also meant that it was doing things like making my vocal cords vibrate to talk, making my diaphragm moving up and down to breath, making my heart beat…

"_I hate to interrupt, but I've been shot no less than a dozen times, don't suppose there's any medicine around here_"

While Waylon shook enough to set off a seismograph in Tokyo, Lisa was a little too calm for me to be comfortable with. Only an instant later I saw that someone had shoved me a small hospitals worth of gauze, disinfectant spray, medical tape, anti-bacterial creams, splints, painkillers, antibiotics, Band-Aids, and I don't even know what else. Both Waylon and Lisa were out of sight and the shadows had shifted a few inches from where they had been.

It took a second for me to realise that that meant a few hours had passed at the least. Great, it seems like my sense of time gets a bit distorted when I ride copilot.

***Waylon***

We had retreated to the bedroom. Lisa was practically glued to the door so she could see down the hallway and into the living room where Miles was sitting at the bar.

"Why's he just sitting there?"

"I don't know"

She creaked the door shut and walked closer to me. "As much as I'd like to pick your brain for details we need to get you cleaned up first."

"But first we-"

"In the shower you go."

"But Lisa, I think that-"

"I said in the shower, I don't need you to get an infection in any cuts you might have."

I huffed, there was no arguing with her when she had her mind set on something. Walking to the bathroom I just told myself that she was being the usual Lisa, and that she'd probably re-watch the video a few times, then go on a warpath against Murkoff.

Which wasn't a terrible idea, they deserved all the terrible things in the world.

I began peeling off the old gym clothes and makeshift bandages of mine.

I had a video camera full of evidence against those monsters. Heck, there was a literal monster sitting in my living room proving the depravity of Murkoff. They deserved to drown in their own filth.

I stepped into the stall, turning on the water and standing to the side of it until it started steaming. The Murkoff Corporation was pure evil. I knew that, they had sent dumb muscle to my house for nothing more than my wife threatening them when she didn't have any evidence. I can only imagine what they would do if I came forward with real, tangible proof. God, they would go after the boys in a second… and Lisa.

I stepped under the hot water. Layers of dried filth greedily took in the water and turned into a horrifying sludge.

Under the water I found myself haunted by what Murkoff could do. They could send a hit man, that wouldn't be hard for them. Or kidnap the boys, or Lisa, or me, or heck all of us. Maybe they lock us all up in some other hell hole. They had to have some of the police on their payroll, what if all I have to look forward to is a lifetime of narrow escapes from the law, or some other bullshit.

The bulk of the grime was washed away. Enough for me to feel comfortable using my scrubby at least. I lathered a generous amount of shampoo into my hair while I was at it.

Never mind what Murkoff could do, I had to figure out what I was going to do now.

There was puréed person in the living room courtesy of the Walrider, who was also in the living room. There was no way I could clean that up. Someone would probably be expecting that guy to be somewhere. It was only a matter of time until someone showed up to do something.

The boys were at school, but that didn't mean they were safe. There had to be somewhere we could go, families out of the question, I couldn't drag mom and dad into this, and Lisa's brother Bill wouldn't take us in for a million dollars. Any hotel would be temporary, it wasn't like we could just run for it, there are obligations I have.

Being in the shower it was hard to notice that I had begun to cry, if it weren't for the stinging in my eyes I probably wouldn't have.

Damn, why are things so hopeless? I was out, that should have been the end of it.

Cleaned from the ordeal I turned off the water. Wiping my swollen face with the towel I took a breath. I couldn't break. I was out of the asylum but not free of the mad men. There were things I still had to do.

"You done in there?" I was Lisa form the bedroom.

"Mostly"

"What?" she walked into the room as she spoke.

Only to stop.

She took one good look at me and immediately sprang into action.

"Sit down on the bed, I'll be there in a second."

"Wait what?"

"Waylon, you have a rip across your stomach, sit down."

I had almost forgotten about it. Without protest I sat on the edge of the bed dimly thinking that it wasn't a good thing that I had lost most of the feeling in my torso.

"Don't move" Lisa said to me overly slowly before leaving the room.

I did lie down, but I didn't even think about going anywhere. Lisa scampered back in carrying bandages and tubes of creams and the like. She set about tending to my wounds.

"Good thing I have Dr. Park on my case" I gave a weak chuckle.

"I'm a pediatrician, not a combat medic. Now stay still, you can't be losing any more blood, you'll go into shock."

I lied there, dimly aware of the sounds of ripping gauze and mild cursing from Lisa.

"Shit, this is going to need stitches… a lot of stitches."

At this point the blood loss was catching up to me, I only gave a weak moan in protest to the idea of stitches. She left for I don't know how long, only to come back with my sewing kit.

She leaned down with threaded needle in hand.

"I'm so sorry about this."

***Miles***

Sometime after I registered that there were medical supplies in front of me I got feeling back to my body, much to my regret.

Everything hit me like a freight truck. I instantly doubled over and landed face first on the counter. Holding in grunts of pain. My whole body shook with barely contained gasps.

"Son of a bitch…" I muttered into the table.

"Excuse me?" it was a woman's voice. It took me enough time to choke down a few more grunts of pain to figure out that that had to be Lisa.

"Hello?"

"What" I still hadn't looked up from my wonderful view of the countertop.

"Well, never mind then."

"No, wait." I took my sweet time sitting up "I'm up, im alive, what do you want?"

I saw a clear view of her for the first time. She was standing with an I'm-in-charge-here attitude, despite being no taller than me sitting on the bar stool. She had a bit of a bruise settled around her left eye, which was gray. Her hair was a strawberry blond, to match Waylon's dirty blond. There wasn't much that was remarkable about her face, she had a tiny forehead, but that was all that seemed to stand out.

"I wanted to know if you were still alive. So it looks like I have my answer."

_I don't like her_

"Oh, shut up."

"Excuse me?"

I'd said that out loud, hadn't I. "I was talking to, I mean- I'm not… Never mind"

Lisa stared daggers at me. Even after all the shit I had seen she had a glare that made me think twice about mouthing off.

She seemed to swallow a toxic comment that was all too ready to spring forward, and instead said "You said you were shot. Where, any wound like that needs to be cleaned."

I thought about it and ultimately decided not to cut out the snark- I'd been a long day, I needed to relax.

"Everywhere, I literally have bullets lodged in every organ I can name"

She was not amused "Take off your shirt."

"Whoa, I don't know what kind of relationship you and Waylon have, but I make it a point to stay away from anyone who's-"

She sprayed god knows what onto my hand and it stung like hell

"Gahhhaa, what was that for!"

I could feel the Walrider getting ready to spring, like a snake in a corner.

**No, down boy.**

"Rubbing alcohol in a spray bottle, now take off the shirt so I patch up any bullet holes. I don't need you dying on my kitchen floor."

"You're just little miss sunshine, aren't you." I began shrugging off my no doubt ruined coat.

I regretted it instantly. Muscles creaked from moving my shoulders, one of which I just realized was dislocated. Every time the leather grazed a cut or scrape a little lightning bolt of pain shot up my arm.

After the jacket fell to the floor, I had time to appreciate my newly dyed red shirt.

"Could have sworn this was white when I put it on."

One by one I unbuttoned the stained shirt. It was more of a feat then I realized, turns out I needed those missing fingers for the small things. I managed to shrug the shirt off the same way I did the jacket, only with a little more effort because it was tighter.

"There, happy now?"

She did not look pleased. I stole a glance down, counting no less than nine bullet holes and seeing that my whole left side was painfully purple.

I looked back at the spray bottle of rubbing alcohol, then over to the counter of medical toys, noting that a sewing kit had been added.

"This is going to hurt like hell, isn't it?"

It took a second for her to take it all in before she replied only "I think we'll have to set your leg too."

"Oh goody"

She glared again, she seemed awfully fond of that glare.

With spray bottle in hand Lisa took a step closer.

"Hold up a second," I had an idea "Hey ghost"

_What_

"Don't suppose you could knock me out for this next bit, I really don't want to be awake for kitchen surgery"

"Are you talking to-"

"Do you mind, I'm in the middle of a conversation here."

For a second she was taken aback, then she grew en expression that made me expect to see cartoon smoke go flying from her ears.

"Anyways, ya, looks like I'm about to get turned into a pincushion"

_And why would I 'knock you out'_

"Because I could always die from the pain, I mean, it's not like I've been pushed way past my limit a good four times in the last two hours"

There was a little hiss of annoyance _I am not your play toy_

"Ya, well you're the one who's insisting on being my second head, so you're going to have to give a little."

There wasn't a verbal reply, but there was a newly familiar feeling of numbness spread over my limbs.

"See, that wasn't so hard"

I glanced back at Lisa, who seemed to be considering spraying the rubbing alcohol into my eyes.

To the woman's credit, it did seem like she knew what she was doing. Not squeamish at all really. Not when she started boiling water and disinfecting needles, or when she dipped rags in said boiling water and used them to wipe away blood and extra bits of organs. She didn't give so much as an 'eww' when she wiped over a rib that gave a very distinctive 'pop' when she touched it.

I have to admit, I was cringing a little just watching. I couldn't feel it, of course, but watching someone popping and partially boiling my chest tends to make me a bit squeamish. I almost looked away when she pulled out the needle and thread from the still boiling water. I saw nine holes, there were probably more, plus any exits wounds in my back. It didn't help that as she got closer I could see that it wasn't any fancy medical suture either, it was tan thread. Thread for mending a pair of shorts or a shirt.

Lisa went about patching the holes. I counted as she went. One, two, three, four… thirteen, fourteen, around to the back, fifteen…. Nineteen, twenty, twenty one. Twenty one bullet holes, fourteen went in, that meant there were still a whole seven left inside.

After that it was a final wipe down of rubbing alcohol, then a few dozen creams. Finally came squares of gauze then a wraparound of ace bandages.

After my torso was wrapped up in pretty tan pressure bandages she took one look at my leg, stood up for a second, bit her lip like she was thinking, then walked off to I don't know where, only to return with two pieces of plywood. She leaned the wood on the counter and took hold of my boot.  
>In anticipating something I knew I wouldn't like the sound of it took me a second to realize that her first tug took my shoe off. She stood there for a second, blinked a couple of times, and started coughing.<p>

Oh come on, it didn't smell that bad.

She took off my other boot and took them both somewhere outside my field of view. A few minutes later she came back with a pair or basketball shorts and scissors.

She set up another pot to boil before taking the scissors to my pants. The poor things were already shredding, there was no reason to cut them off.

Either way, she wiped down my battered legs with alcohol and hot water. Apparently she was satisfied with her work because she moved back to pulling my foot, trying to set my leg. I could see a crick in my shin, the bone was most definitely broken in half. Lisa pulled at my leg, and ever so slowly I could see the bottom portion of my shin drifting downward. Eventually the bone was down far enough for her to push it back into place from the side. There was a wonderful grinding sound as ragged bone scraped against raged bone. Again she wrapped the leg with a tight ace bandage, then she put the two pieces of plywood on the side of my leg and wrapped them in place, making a sort of heavy duty splint. The basketball shorts were only just loose enough to make it up over the splint.

She seemed like she was done. Only for her to stop and give me a once over. She stepped up to my shoulder, tapped it, realized it was dislocated, and freaking body slammed it back into place.

She stood back, took a second to admire her work, then left.

_She left the shards of glass stuck in our head._

**My head. And hey, bullet holes and broken bones get priority.**


	6. 6, Road Trip

AN: Hello all, and here is chapter 6. Thanks again to the reviewers for being generally awesome. Anyways, never mind my babbling on, please enjoy the chapter.

***Waylon***

I came to on my bed. For a second I thought everything had been a horrible, horrible dream. Then I realized that my vision swirled from blood loss and my stomach still felt like it was on fire. I let a small groan escape my lips.

"Waylon, are you awake?"

It was Lisa.

"ya…."

I felt the bed compress next to me and saw her face fill my vision.

"Looks like I died and went to heaven" I tried to give a weak laugh, but coughed instead.

A tear or two welled up in her eyes, but she didn't let them go anywhere.

"I'm so glad you're home."

Ugh, home, we couldn't stay here "we can't stay here".

"What?"

I really didn't have the strength to talk right now, she was a smart lady, she could figure out why.

"But…" she took a second "damn, you're right"

She stood up, obviously forcing the action. I should be up and telling her things would be ok, she was always there for me, even now when she was overwhelmed she didn't falter. And it was my fault things were like this in the first place. If I had been more vocal from the start this never would have happened, this was all my fault, I-

No, this was Murkoffs fault, I couldn't depress myself like this. They were the monsters, I had to remember that.

"Lisa" I staggered out the word

She held my hand, her soft touch did more to comfort me than any words could have. "Yes?"

"We can't stay here."

"I know-"

"I don't know where we can go, but…" home wasn't safe, no where else was either, she had to know that.

"I know things are more dangerous than either of us thought they could be."

"Right, we need to get the boys from school, need to leave"

"But, you need a doctor. We have to-"

"Lisa," I turned my hand over to give a light squeeze "I already have the best doctor on the planet"

"I'm a pediatrician."

"Close enough"

I drifted back into that near dream like state where I could neither feel nor move my limbs, the room seemed to swirl around me as I lay on the bed. It only became clear to me that Lisa had moved from her spot beside me when I saw her going through the dresser drawers.

"What are you…?"

"Packing some suitcases"

"Oh… ok"

I knew we had to leave, but the reality just hadn't sunk in on me. Knowing that Lisa was packing to hit the road hit it home. We were leaving, maybe never coming back.

Damn.

***Miles***

"Miles?"

Waylon stood in front of me with a crutch under one arm. Where the hell did he get a crutch?

"What?"

Was he still scared of me? Ah, it wasn't like he didn't have reason to be.

"We need to go."

"Where are we going?"

He blinked a couple times as if he were surprised.

"Oh, um… I meant…"

It was then that it dawned on me, he meant just him and his lady friend. "I get it, you don't want a monster like me riding shotgun."

"What no, it's just, I…"

"You what?"

He stood there leaning heavily onto the crutch, as he began to speak Lisa called from the bedroom.

"Hey Waylon, come here, I think you need to see this."

He looked up at me as if he were considering not moving, which, of course, he ultimately did. Seeing him walk down the hallway I thought to myself.

I couldn't really blame him, we didn't know each other, and it wasn't like he owed me anything. Well actually, we used my car to escape, but I couldn't really hold that one to him. I suppose after this I was free to publish everything I had found. Every second of film was going all over the internet, every document would get published in print and online. Murkoff wasn't getting out of this. They were going to burn, even if I went down with them.

I didn't have too long to consider my options before Waylon hobbled back into the room. He didn't stop to talk to me, but instead grabbed the TV remote. Flipping the TV on he changed it from some kiddy channel over to the local news.

"-the license plate for that is SX7-42L, and again keep on the lookout for a red 2004 Jeep."

My jaw almost dropped open. Right there on the local news was my driver's license picture, they had my name and everything. Also there was Waylon's.

"What the hell?" I found myself saying under my breath.

Waylon spoke up from next to the sofa "it's a news bulletin. Earlier it was saying that we robbed a bank and shot a guard on the way out."

What.

Then it dawned on me. "Fucking Murkoff! Damn it…"

"We need to get out of here" he said looking at me

"Oh, now that we're partners in crime I'm allowed on your little road trip. I see how it is." I slid from the stool, grunting ever so slightly from the weight I put on my leg.

Waylon opened his mouth to speak only to be cut off by Lisa walking by with a suit case.

"Into the car" was all she said. Waylon dropped whatever he was about to say and followed. I took a second and followed suit.

It was nearly implausible with the plywood tied to my leg, but I managed to hobble through the stinging pain and made it to the garage.

"You've got to be kidding me."

In the middle of the double car garage was a silver mine-van. The rest of the garage looked like a scene out of an 80s movie, what with the bread board of hand tools and the table that contained little scraps of wood, saw dust, and the partially assembled pieces of a bird house.

"Is that a set of set of bowling balls?"

"What about them?" Lisa said in an overly curt tone that I was beginning to suspect she used because she didn't like me.

Ignoring her I looked at Waylon and continued to the car "You live in a home improvement magazine, where are the 2.3 kids and golden retriever? Are you sure your last name isn't Jones?"

"Umm…"

"Not one for jokes, are you Waylon?"

Any answer that he might have had didn't make it out in time to beat Lisa. She told me to just get in the car and shut up. At least it was clear who wore the pants in that relationship.

I pulled myself into the back seat noting that Waylon rode shotgun while Lisa manned the driver's seat. Yep, real clear who was in charge between those two. Also in the car I couldn't help but notice that there were coloring books and trading cards scattered to kingdom come. Glancing back into the third row of the seats I found an aluminum baseball bat and a tiny pair of cleats.

Before I had the chance to speak up about them we had backed out of the garage and were passing my jeep in the driveway.

"You don't think we should try to hide that?"

"No, most of the neighbors know we live here."

"Ya, the McCray's two doors down used to baby sit, and there's book club, and the neighborhood watch, and the HOA, and.." Waylon added to Lisa's quick comment.

"Wait, did you say baby sit?"

"hm? Ya, the McCray's baby sit the boys whenever me and Lisa need them."

"Boys, plural, as in more than one?"

"Obviously" Lisa made the single word more condescending than I thought plausible.

_We aren't talking to her_

"Oh, be quiet."

"Come again?" I could hear her getting more pissed at me every time she opened her mouth.

"Not you, just talking to myself. Anyways, you two have kids?"

"Yes, Connor and Garret" it was Waylon who answered me that time.

Sitting in the back seat I decided to let the conversation lie idle. This was getting worse by the minute. I needed a doctor (maybe), had a homicidal AI lodged in my brain, was officially on the run from the cops, probably had Murkoff goons after me, was caravanning with the most apple pie family in existence, and had exactly nowhere I could go. I'm so fucked.

Actually, there was somewhere I could go.

"Hey, guys"

"Yes?" it was Waylon who answered from over his shoulder.

"Do we have any idea where we're going?"

The two of them were silent up front for a while, before Lisa answered "no"

"Ok, so, I know a guy we could go to. He's a bit kooky, but he'll help us out."

"And how do you know this person?"

"A business contact, gets all kinds of info that should be under the radar. He owes me a few favors."

"This would be a pretty big favor." Answered Waylon

"That and I don't want some whack job around my kids" added Lisa

"Oh, he's not that bad. And he's on the up and up, I swear."

We drove on through the suburb, which reeked of apple pies cooling on windowsills and freshly cut grass, until a modest elementary school came into view. Just before the car pulled into a pick up lane that ran past the front doors Lisa spoke up.

"Fine, we'll go to your nut job, but if any bad comes of it I'm holding you responsible."

"Oh, I'm quivering. And ok, it's a bit out of the way, but I think I can still find it."

The car sank back into silence. I heard a bell ring in the distance and not long after a small flood of kids charged out of the building. Some ten minutes after the first few were outside two of the little munchkins walked up to the mini-van. They were both pretty small, both blondies. The slightly shorter of the two had Lisa's red tinted hair but Waylon's brown eyes and was a little stick. The taller one still had a bit of baby fat, also had Lisa's brand of blond, but also had her eyes.

The two were bickering as they slid open the van door.

"No, Mrs. Krutzfielder totally has a pet snake."

"No she doesn't."

"Does to!"

"Nuh-uh!"

They didn't even seem to notice I was in the back seat until one of them pumped into me.

"Does-!"

With a look of mild surprise and confusion the kid looked up at me.

"uh-uh, Mom?" the kid looked up to the front seat

"Never mind him Connor, that's just Miles, he's-"

"Hi Miles!" shouted the other chubby kid who wasn't sitting next to me.

Lisa continued on without skipping a beat "-a friend of your fathers from work. And we're going to go visit and old friend of his. Isn't that right Miles?"

She had a clearly faked smile on her face, when I answered I feigned a happy tone that didn't at all sound like I was being forced at gunpoint. "Sure is."

"…and um, where did you say this friend of yours lived?" that was Waylon, who was eyeing me very nervously through the rearview mirror.

"Oh, it's a bit of a drive, just head up north to Fort Collins, once we're there take a left onto Rist Canyon, I'll tell you more when we get there."

"Who's your friend? Where are we going? How far is it? What happened to your hands? Does he have cake?"

That was not-Connor again. Suddenly very self-conscience I fidgeted with my hands, realizing that I was still holding the camera. How? Before I got the chance to answer Lisa cut in.

"Garret, don't be so nosy."

He said with a huff "Yes mom." Only to start fidgeting around with an iPod he pulled from his backpack.

Really an iPod? What was he, twelve? I don't even have an iPod and I'm forty-two. Looking down at the camcorder in my hand I considered looking over the footage, but decided against it; Garret would probably get up in my business asking what I was looking at and I didn't feel like backing out of that sort of awkward situation.

Now that I think about it Donald will probably be asking all sorts of crazy questions, but I can probably tell him the unfiltered truth without him calling bull shit or being completely repulsed.

There was a metallic buzz at the back of my mind.

Ok, maybe not the whole truth. Crazy conspiracy nuts do tend to flip out a little when they hear the words nanobots, or demons, or Nazis, or demonic Nazi nanobots. Getting him to let my flock in might be tricky too. I mean, Waylon alone would be difficult, Waylon and Lisa together would be kind of rough, but add in a couple of kids, one of which who seems to be paparazzi levels of nosy, and there's no way we're getting in the door.

Another thing, getting the footage out in public. Getting it out won't be hard, getting it believed will. I can't exactly post to the website that usually takes my articles, tabloids will take it, but won't be believed. No normal news station will take that footage, Donald's conspiracy nut buddies will take it up with open arms, but no one listens to them, and-

_They're so small_

"wh-" I looked up realizing that talking to myself would probably make me seem a little bit insane.

**What?**

_There are tiny human beings next to you. What's wrong with them?_

The hell is it going on about now? Looking over to the boys it took me a second to realize that the Walrider wouldn't have ever seen anyone under twenty wile it was in Mont Massive.

_Why are they so small?_

**Because their young. Us normal people take time to grow up.**

_Oh, so they would look the same as everyone else after we-_

**No, don't even finished that sentence. No, nononono. You're not saying what I think you're saying. That is not happening.**

There was an undefined buzz for a moment after my harsh reply, until: _That was odd_

**What?**

_You seemed angry. _

**You're talking about killing kids and splattering them on the walls.**

_You weren't mad about the security. Or the man in the house._

**As I remember it I was unconscious when you slaughtered the Blackwater wanna-be's. And only semi-conscience when it came to the guy at Waylon's, who was about to kill Waylon. Actually, the security guys shot me, so that was self-defense. Also, I seem to remember telling you I wasn't buying your homicidal bull shit.**

_But you seem more angry now than you were when I last offered some sport._

**Well, killing kids is just a little bit higher on the list of Great Big Evil Things** **than random homicide.**

_There's a list?_

**No! Jeez, you don't kill kids.**

_Why not?_

**It's a human thing, decent human beings don't kill children, or anyone else, but especially kids.**

_Ok, but we are still going to have some fun later._

**I am done with this conversation, just shut up.**

_Imagine it, the entire Murkoff staff dead at our feet. Drowning in their own blood, strangled with their coworkers intestines. _

**Shut up.**

_The dying under layers of the already dead, groaning for mercy but getting none. The crunch of bones and screams of agony, it will be-_

"I said shut up!"

Everyone in the car looked at me in various stages of shock, except for Garret. Waylon was bug eyed and more pale than he had been before. Little Connor was scrunched in a ball against Garret. And Lisa was clenching the steering wheel tight enough that I was surprised it didn't snap.

Well, this was awkward.

The car continued rolling forward with the flow of traffic. I took maybe three minutes before everyone eased back to not being ready to run away very quickly. I'd have to work on not talking back to it out loud. An uneasy silence blanketed the car, only to be broken by a voice than nobody else could hear.

_I can't help but notice that you didn't say 'no' to killing the Murkoff workers._


	7. 7, I've got a Story to Tell

AN: Here's lucky number 7, hope ya'll enjoy it. Also, it's been a while sense I groveled for reviews, so if anyone wants to leave one... On that note, thank you to my regular reviewers. On a completely different note, please enjoy this chapter.

***Waylon***

I was still glancing in the rear-view every twenty seconds. Even though Miles had had his small outburst just over an hour ago I was still on edge. No one had said a word. By some small miracle neither of the boys had said anything, what with Garret being caught up in a book he was reading and Conner going to town on his game boy.

The car had just turned onto Rist Canyon, which happened to be on the northern edge of Fort Collins.

I couldn't help but wonder about this guy we were going to. It wasn't like we had many more options, but I'm still not sure I trust Miles. I mean sure, he saved me from Blaire, and that guy in the house, but after a few hours of crawling through the Walrider's handy work I didn't trust him.

Another thing, who was in charge in there? Miles or the Walrider? Was there any of the original miles left? What if-

"Stay on this road for another hour or so, we're headed out of town."

That was Miles giving more directions. Where were we going? God this seemed like a more terrible idea by the second. I glanced back into the rearview. He was looking out the window, not moving much.

"Hey dad?" it was Connor.

I have to admit that I jumped a little "Ya buddy?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Uhhh, I'm on vacation. Extra-long early vacation."

"Oh, what about school?"

"What about it?"

"Are we going to school tomorrow?"

"…nope, we're on vacation"

"But I told Sam I was going to bring my soccer ball for recess tomorrow"

"You can bring it later, we're going out of town."

"But, soccer…"

"Connor listen to your father" Lisa chimed in on my behalf.

"Yes mom…"

I couldn't keep this up for long. I had to let them know what was going on but they were still in elementary school. I can't keep this up and it's been less than a day that we've been 'on the run'; I'm already having doubts. I have to do something to calm myself down, but I can't. I can't rest, I'm too worried that a patrol car will drive by and notice me. I probably need a blood transfusion, but that's not happening. I need to get my family somewhere safe but no where's safe. I need to-

"Waylon?"

"Wha-what?" my train of thought derailed at the sound of Lisa's voice.

She didn't say anything in reply, but instead gave me a short look of worry before looking back at the road.

I took the cue to take a look at myself, only dimly noticing that I had broken out in a sweat.

I couldn't let myself get into a panic now. After everything in the asylum I couldn't let the aftermath be what kills me. Pushing down a colossal amount of panic I took a deep breath and switched on the radio.

***Miles***

It had been a horribly long drive but we were finally getting close to Donald's place. Not that you could tell. We were five miles down an overgrown dirt path, not worn enough to call a road. The radio had lost its signal half an hour ago and I wasn't sure if it was because we were out in the boonies or because of interference. Either way I had no doubt dear Donnie would be as paranoid as ever and I would have a lot of explaining to do.

We made a final push through a dense wall of foliage and ended up in a clearing. On the far side of the small clearing was a modest sized house complete with a little patio.

"Hey guys, hold up." The car, which was only crawling before, came to a stop.

I opened the door and noticed that Waylon and Lisa were muttering among themselves.

"Hey Donnie!" I yelled for him, knowing that he had to be watching. "It's just me and I've got a hell of a story to tell you!"

One of the boys behind me said something about a bad word. I was in the stopped car for a solid two minutes before a nearby bush shook. From the brush stepped a ghillie suit clad, rifle wielding Donald.

"Miles doesn't drive a minivan, prove you're him!"

"Oh Christ, not this again."

"Prove it!"

"Last time I was here you got drunk and passed out in your basement wearing nothing but socks."

He gave me a hard stare, only to lower the gun. "You old son of a bitch, we agreed never to talk about that"

"You wanted proof I was me, that'd do it."

"Who's that with you?" he raised the gun back to shooting level.

"Ok, it's a long story."

"I don't care, no one's allowed-"

"Donnie, chill! We can talk about this inside."

The driver's window rolled down, giving Donald a clear view of Lisa and probably Waylon too.

"Can you calm down, you're scaring my kids." That was dear old Lisa, being rather intrusive.

"You brought a whole freaking family to my house!"

"Damn it Donnie, listen to me! I've got a big story I need to break. I went after Murkoff like I told you I was, and I've got something. They're not happy about it and now I'm on the run. Now can we get this car hidden somewhere and go inside? I'm kind of beat to hell and have been strapped down in a car for the last three hours."

"You took on Murkoff?"

"Yep, walked out alive with a camera full of evidence too." I strained to hold up the camcorder to show him.

"Well, if you're aiming to take those bastards down, I can't see the harm in letting you stay here for a while."

"Good, I'll tell you more when we get inside."

Donald motioned Lisa to drive to the small garage he had set up around the back of his house. Donald was a paranoid bastard, but he'd help out if I made it worth his while.

"Don't tell me you actually expect me to go back there." Lisa spat from the front seat.

"Mom, I'm scared"

"It's ok Connor, there's nothing to be scared of" Waylon cooed from the front seat.

"Just head back there, we'll be fine."

She shoot a well-known glare through the rearview, but drove forward anyway.

Lisa pulled the van onto a gravel path that served as a driveway and killed the engine. Donald was standing by the passenger door that I slid open. Slowly Waylon untangled himself from the passenger seat and left the car, the boys stayed where they were, with Lisa turning to talk to them. I shut the door behind me.

"What the hell happened to you?" Donald asked me, focusing on the plywood strapped around my leg.

"Terrible things. There all on this camera, I say we get inside and upload this shit to anyone who'll take it."

"Sure thing, but first, who the hell is this?" he asked as Waylon came around the front of the car with a crutch.

"Uh, that's Waylon. He saw some things too, has another camera on him also."

"Mmhm, and what exactly happened?"

I took a glance behind me to make sure the door was shut and that the kids couldn't hear me. "You know how you were convinced that Murkoff was getting up to some terrible shit on US soil? Turns out you were right. There was human experimentation complete with a stadium sized underground lab. I went there off an anonymous email from the inside, found it after everything had gone to hell."

I'm sure that Donald would have grilled me a bit further or at least interrogated Waylon a little if he hadn't been so excited about his being right about Murkoff.

"Shit! Really, you've got evidence, I knew they were up to something! Ha!"

"Celebrate when we get inside, I got shot a couple of times I need to lie down."

"They shot you?"

"Shot, stabbed, thrown out a window, exploded, tortured, you know, the usual."

"Damn, what about you?" he turned to Waylon

"ummm, ya, I got stabbed in the stomach. It's pretty bad."

"Hmph, hand me the camera and we'll go in then."

I knew that Donald would die before losing evidence against the company he had been obsessing over for the last five years, but I still found it very hard to hand him the Camcorder. Eventually, however, I handed it over and started following him towards the house.

Dimly I was aware of the sounds of Lisa and the kids leaving the car and following with Waylon, but I was a bit more focused on what I was going to say to Donald. It would take him all of ten minutes to notice the Walrider in that tape and I knew that he would ask about it. My only choice was to lie about it and say that I had killed it.

_But I'm still right here_

**Don't remind me.**

Stepping through the front door I was greeted to the completely normal looking living room, which I knew as a front to the rest of the disheveled house. What I didn't expect was the gargled screech when I walked over the threshold.

Donald's head shot up like a dart. "the EMF!"

Oh shit, I had forgotten about the ghost hunting bull shit he kept hooked up. Donald generally kept to the big bad corporate conspiracies and illuminate and government scandals and the like, but he wasn't above slipping down into occult conspiracies.

"Oh, well, that's odd." I muttered under my breath thinking to the Walrider that it should cool whatever it had cooking.

By the time Donald had dug out the little hab-dash sensor it had stopped whining.

"That's strange" he said holding the silenced hunk of metal.

"Anyways" I spoke up "I haven't eaten for over a day, you got anything?"

"You know I do. Make yourself at home while I take a look at this film"

"Whatever you say."

He skulked off into the back rooms. By this time Waylon and company had gotten into the house.

"Well, our host is in the back, foods in the fridge." I sat down in the sofa. As I did the feeling from my mostly numbed limbs started trickling back, much to my displeasure.

Lisa looked like she was about to say something, before deciding not to. Without many words the Park family shuffled into the kitchen.

Reclining onto the sofa was too nice. The cushion was firm yet soft and not covered with a film of blood or bile, and there wasn't a maniac sitting next to me either. This was heaven.

Or it was until I closed my eyes.

As I lulled off a bit the sound of the Walrider got increasingly louder. First it started as a little whine but soon evolved into a full on roar of static. Until finally its electronic voice was clear as a bell.

_This place is boring._

**Oh shut up you. It's nice and no one's trying to kill me.**

_But it's boring._

**Well you're just going to have to deal with it because I'm not moving.**

There was a hiss of what I assumed to be annoyance.

**Look, I'm still beat to hell and kind of on the verge of death. I say I take a while to heal up and what I say goes.**

_Human bodies are so weak._

**Sue me.**

The Walrider fell silent, I assume to mope for a bit. I took the silence in stride and let myself relax. The sun was setting outside and there was the smallest hint of bird song, if I didn't know any better I'd say I was dying on the lab floors and just hallucinating everything. Either way I laid my head back and closed my eyes. I'd take a nap, just a short one.


	8. 8, A Terrible Liar

AN: Hey everyone, looks like Monday is once again upon us. Anyhoo, I'd like to take a second to thank Hunter the Weavile and Hana-chan98 for commenting on the last chapter, and I know I harp on reviewers alot, but I also want to give a shout out to all the readers in general. Seriously guys, thanks for reading.

***Waylon***

For a conspiracy nut who greets people with riffles in a ghillie suit this Donald guy sure had a nice kitchen. Of all the things to be crossing my mind that was it, not that I should get a blood transfusion, or that should tell my boys anything, but that the hardwood floors look really nice. It was good to know I had my priorities straight.

"Did you see that, he had a rifle and everything, that guy's so cool!" Garret was just as excitable as ever.

"Garret things are serious right now, calm down a little bit, you're scaring your brother." Lisa tried her best to quiet Garret down, but there wasn't much that could do that.

I sat down on a bar stool "hey Garret, don't you have homework?"

"What! no I-… ya"

"Why don't you go do that then?"

"…fine" he huffed and puffed a bit but pulled out a math workbook from his backpack.

"Hey dad?" that was Connor

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry."

Well that was an issue. Miles said that there was food in the fridge but I didn't live here and didn't think that he had the authority to let us into the refrigerator. Lisa however wasn't so reserved. She stepped straight over to the fridge, opened it up, and pulled out a few ingredients: strawberries, cheese, half a link of sausage. Then she went over to the pantry and collected a loaf of bread.

"How about sandwiches and fruit?"

The boys were both all for it, Garret conveniently forgetting about the math homework. I had to hand it to Lisa, if it weren't for her I wouldn't know what to do. I myself wasn't in the mood for food, I knew I should eat, it's been over a day since I had anything, but my appetite was nonexistent.

I sat on the bar stool, only to realize I didn't have the camera with me.

"Hey Lisa, where's the camera?" I had to know where it was.

"In the trunk in the suitcase, why?"

"Ok" I left the stool and walked from the kitchen leaning heavily on the crutch.

I knew I should be sitting down, not moving as much as possible, that my stomach and leg needed to heal, but I couldn't leave that camera out of site, I don't think I could live with myself if something happened to it.

Hobbling through the living room I passed an asleep Miles, who was snoring like there was a jackhammer lodged in his throat. Once outside I went straight to the car, which was unlocked. Lifting up the trunk I unzipped the suitcase and found that it was filled with clothes. Riffling through the pants and shirts I found the camera hidden away at the bottom inside a makeup bag, anyone who went through the thing would have had a rough time finding it.

Zipping shut the case and closing the car door I went back into the house, passing a still asleep Miles only to be stop just as I was about to go into the kitchen.

"Hey, Miles! Did you see-? Miles?" Donald had come running around the corner. I, of course, had jumped out of my skin and given a small yelp of surprise.

"Oh, didn't mean to scare you." He looked over my shoulder "So, he looks like he's clunked out"

"What? Oh ya, sure" I didn't think I had anything to say to this guy, what did one say to a guy you didn't know when you were in his house with another person you barely knew while you were on the run from the law?

"Anyways, do you have any idea what's on that camera? There's some crazy shit"

"Ya, I know I was there. It's… pretty terrible" I leaned a little more heavily on my crutch thinking that we were going to be talking there for a while.

"Right, right. I nearly forgot, say did you see-? Did you have a camera too?" he started staring at the device in my hand.

"Yes, I… didn't think I was going to get out of there, so I wanted there to be proof of what had happened. I hoped if I didn't make it out this would."

"I need to see what's on it" he sounded awfully excited.

I didn't know this guy and there was no way I was giving him the camera.

"I don't really think that I should-"

"Here you can come to the back, I've got an awesome set up."

I would have stopped him, but he grabbed my arm and walked on before I had a chance to say anything. For a crazy guy who had greeted a minivan with a rifle he sure was excitable, heck, he hadn't even changed out of the ghillie suit. I was being escorted past the kitchen by a walking bush.

We were down a hallway and in a room that was jam packed with computers. There were half a dozen monitors mounted to the wall, each with their own keyboard and mouse, I was a pretty prolific computer user myself, but this was just ridiculous. Along with the myriad of computers there were three TV's, each on a different news channel, a wall that was occupied solely by maps -national and local. The map wall had a spider web of threads ranging from red to blue to black and everything in between. There was even a bookshelf and a couple of filing cabinets crammed to capacity and a desk with a couple dictionaries worth of paper scattered on it.

"What even-"

"Here, check this out." He swung into a cushioned office chair and resumed the video that was playing on it.

It was a tunnel of some sort, with murky brown water lining the bottom. It must be a sewer- that would explain the smell earlier. The camera panned down as if Miles had crouched, then he went through a smaller yard tall tunnel. The night vision bathed everything in a green-black light, just before he was out of the smaller tunnel a black cloud rushed across the field of view.

Walrider.

"Did you see that?" Donald sounded so excited, like the boys on Christmas morning.

"I…"

"Any idea what it was? Did you see it?"

"Um, what? Ya I saw- I mean…" What was I supposed to tell him? I couldn't come up with something on the fly, damn I was a terrible liar.

"Well you're chatty. What'd you get on your camera?"

He grabbed it from my hand before I had a chance. Quickly he pulled out the memory card and popped it into a card reader that lead to one of the computers. An alert popped up on one of the screens and Donald grabbed a seemingly random mouse that happened to lead to that screen. How he kept them all straight, I'll never know.

Clicking the file that contained the video, a player popped up and the footage began to role.

It was of me in the chair that I had been strapped into.

"Oh shit, were you a patient?!" Donald snapped around in his seat.

"What!? No, sort of. I mean no."

He eyed me for a second

"Ok, I worked there. I'm a software engineer, and I threatened to go public with some of the things they were doing, so they locked me up. Said I was suffering from 'prosecutorial delusions'"

A flicker of what might have been admiration showed on his face "damn son, how was that?"

The memory of Andrew licking my face made me squirm a little "not fun"

"Hm, alright then." He turned and fast forwarded through the footage until the incident happened.

Warning lights flickered, I stumbled to the camera, the film jostled when I picked it up, and the lights went out. As soon as I switched on the inferred the ruined testing area was reviled. I remembered this, the first terrible thing I saw during a night of purely terrible things. It was the Walrider slamming the soggy remains of the inmate in the cell next to me into a Plexiglas wall.

Donald hit Pause.

"So you did see it! You worked there, what the hell is that thing?"

"It was called project Walrider. And it was a terrible idea. And I don't want to watch these videos." I took a step back "watch all you want, but I don't want to see this shit again"

"Sure, ok, whatever. What do you know about it? I need to know."

This guy doesn't quit "I don't know much, but I know that it needed a host and a huge machine to keep its host alive, a thing called the morphogenic engine. My job was to run maintenance on the thing, and I didn't even see it all, only a little piece of code at a time."

"Paranoid bastards, what about the Walrider itself? Is it live, is it sentient, what the hell is it?"

"At least part of it is nanobots, I don't know for sure. And I'm pretty sure it's sentient." If Miles's talking to himself was any indication, the Walrider was most definitely sentient.

"Well, what happened to it?"

I choked down a surprised cough "what?"

"What happened to it, I get it that you and Miles got out of there, somehow, but what about that thing? Proof of a murderous ghostly AI would definitely make a dent in Murkoffs PR campaign if you know what I mean."

"I don't know. I do not know what happened to it. Not a clue."

"Riiiiight, looks like I'll just have to skip to the end of the video and find out."

"What!" he clicked over to the last five minutes of the footage from my camera.

Captured on it was the brief encounter I had with Blaire, the last thing caught of that was my getting stabbed, the camera was at the wrong angle to see the Walrider swoop in and dismember him. There was a cut to my hobbling through the courtyard. Donald stared at the screen, not saying a word until I got into Miles's jeep.

"You stole the jeep? I bet Miles was pissed"

My mouth just hung open, I didn't want him asking about the figure at the end of the film.

On the screen was footage of the interior, I was about to pan up and catch sight of-

"Breaking news! There is now a statewide man hunt for Miles Upshur and Waylon Park. The two men are wanted for the armed robbery of Leadville branch bank, and have been linked to the disappearances of Jeremy Blaire and Richard Trager, both employees of Murkoff Corporation." On the screen were images of the allegedly missing men.

Donald was completely fixated on the TV, with the computer being long forgotten.

"Wait a second, that's the guy from the video." Donald noted Blair's picture, taking a moment to listen to the rest of the story. "shit, the cops are after you?"

"It's not true! I swear-"

"Well no shit it's not true, obviously a fabricated story from Murkoff, they probably fooled the cops, or have them in their pocket, the bastards."

"You believe me, ok, wow. So…" I took a glance at the screen, seeing that the footage had ended "what do you think I should do"

"You got a family, right guy?"

"Well, yes. Their-"

"Hide 'em. Go into hiding, don't contact anyone, disappear."

"I am in hiding, that's what we're doing here."

"Well, not in my house. I mean, you can stay the night, but after that you got to scram, I don't need Murkoff on my ass."

"What! Where else would I go, I don't even-"

"That's your problem, come to think of it I should probably send Miles on his way too, after I pick his brain for information I mean."

"Are you even listening to yourself!?"

"Wow, calm down guy I-"

"No I'm not calming down! I've literally been through hell and I have my two young boys and wife in the other room, and you're telling me that I can stay for the night but I better be out by morning! No, I just… Damn it! I'm so screwed… i- i…" I was gasping for air between words.

"ok, ok, um… hey, hey, you can stay, for a while. It's all right. Ya, you'll be fine."

He kept talking after I had stopped listening. It was too much, things were just getting to be too much. I don't even know what I'm doing any more. This was all my fault, my fault.

My fault.

"…And I have a bunch of spare cots in the basement let's go ahead and set those up. Ya?"

"Sure" I didn't expect myself to reply.

Either way I followed Donald when he stood up from the chair. We went down the hall, I had an uneasy feeling. Just before we rounded the corner that led to the living room I heard laughter. Horribly uneven, choked, almost synthetic laughter.


	9. 9, A Little Heart to Heart

AN: Hello everybody, here's chapter 9. First off thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. Secondly, next chapter gets kind of (extremely) rough, its not _super _gory or even that bad on language but... just brace yourselves.

Anyways, there is a semi-gory part in this chapter, please enjoy.

***Miles***

Death. Death and grime and horror and pain and fear and every other damn thing from that fucking asylum held me. Like a prison of rotting flesh and screaming souls.

Running, I was running. Running down a hall. Running down the battered brown and bloody halls. Over a filthy table, through a door off its hinges. Running. Why was I running?

"Buddy!" "Little pig" "Silky" "My son…"

Oh right.

Through the door, down the hall, onto the floor. I don't want to be on the floor. Pain now. Pain in my legs, down below the knees. I can't move my feet.

"I knew I should have cut the Akeley's first!"

Shit, I spin around. Trager. Trager with scissors. Trager with a knife. Blind pain shoots through my leg. Pain that blots my vision, that stops my breath. My leg is warm and wet. I'm clawing with my arms, with my still bleeding hands.

"Whoa-ho, Where do you think you're going?" he's too happy. Happy to kill a man, to mangle living muscle.

The blade in his hand digs into my thigh. Suddenly I'm on my back on a stretcher. Trager looms over me.

"How about a nice stroll after this? A little trip to the beach?" The blade in his hand slices my leg to ribbons. The fluid drips off the already soaked stretcher and onto the rancid floor.

"Oh right" He cut a slit up the side of my body, I screamed, I knew I was screaming, but I couldn't hear it. The only damn thing reaching my ears was Tragers babbling.

"Now, for that tongue…" the scissors from before inched towards my face "Open wide"

Struggling now, retching at the restraints that I knew weren't there before, fighting away from the blade. Oh god he was close. Closer. Closer. Not again!

Heavy breathing, not mine. Trager was right there, now he's gone? To my left. Holy shit, is that Chris? Oh god it is. He snaps Tragers sunken head from his dried shoulders, the good doctors blood paints the wall. Chris turns around.

"You're next…"

God damn, struggling at the restraints, pulling at the leather manacles. No, I'm not dying on a fucking stretcher, no, no, no, no!

I look back up at Chris. He's gone. Where? Where is he? I look back to the restraints, not there. Nails? There are-

Oh god they hurt! Slivers of iron are dug into the flesh of my arms, they're in between the bones, holding me in place. Rust colored blood is welling up through my jacket sleeve. It's hot.

It's bright. What the hell? Fire? The room is burning, I'm upright now. Stuck to a wall? I can't tell, the flames are eating at the encrusted walls. The room is alight with angry red, the living heat reached my mangled legs. Hungry flames ravage my flesh.

"We are free now my son. You have reached your salvation" It's Martin. He's there in the burning room basking in the flames. The fire is eating me alive, it's climbing Martins pale fleshy body. He's laughing, he's turning to ash and crumbling away and laughing.

I'm screaming, I can't hear it but I know I am, the burning pain is too much. I have to get out, I have to survive, I have to-

"Miles!"

I have to… I'm laughing

"Miles, get up!"

"Hmm, what." Donald's sunset lit living room slowly drifts into focus.

"You heard me, up you go." It was Donald, who was still dressed in his ghillie suit for some reason. "You were laughing like a freaking maniac" there was a slight chuckle to his tone "must have been some hell of a dream you were having."

"…ya sure. Ok, I'm up. What are we doing now?" I would have stood up from the couch to make my being awake more convincing, but I was in no mood to move.

"We were headed down to the basement so we could set up some cots for Waylon and his family." he gave a bit of a nod as if he were motioning to Waylon, but there was nobody behind him.

"Ummm, and where exactly is Waylon?"

"He's right-" Donald spun to see the now empty corner of his living room. "… he was just here a minute ago."

"Right, anyways, did you get anything uploaded off the camera?"

"Not yet, oh ya, that reminds me. I was watching a part and there was essentially a ghost, I picked Waylon over for information about it and he told me that it was Murkoffs pet project called the Walrider, what do you know about it?"

Well this is awkward "the bastards dead. It tried to kill me, but I pulled through"

_That's a lie._

**Damn straight it is**

"Fuck, really? But what do you know about it? Waylon basically flipped out and shut down before saying much"

"Ok, well let's see, every time you see a red smear that used to be a person in that video it was the Walrider that did it. Its incorporeal, and needed a big ass machine to keep it alive. Also it was made by a Nazi."

"Slow down for a second, Nazis?"

"Yep. The old guy was still alive when I got there, names DrWarnike. He had this whole long monologue about it too, that's near the end of the video on my camcorder."

"I'll be right back, tell Waylon that the cots are down stairs in the first closet on the left"

"At least change out of the ghillie suit, you look like an ape got busy with a shrub"

I doubted that he would take my advice, but I had to at least try. As I sat on the couch I noted that the room had gotten significantly more shadowed, it had to be close to eight. Taking a second I took a deep breath, I needed to collect myself for a second, get something to eat and drink then go to bed. I didn't want to go to bed though, not if I was just going to have terrible dreams. Reliving nightmares wasn't very high on my to do list

Either way, first things first, something to eat. I stirred, trying to stand, only to realize how far the kitchen was and how painful moving was.

I muttered under my breath "well shit" then I called out "hey Waylon"

It took a second but he eventually peaked his head around the corner.

"Don't suppose you could grab me a bag of chips or something?"

He disappeared back behind the corner only to pop out a second later with a sandwich on a plate and a bottle of water. He hobbled over on his crutch and set them both on the coffee table in front of me.

"Thanks." I started to peel myself from the cushions "oh ya, Donnie said that there were cots in the basement in the first closet to the left"

He started to leave without saying anything in reply.

"Hey! You can talk to me, it's not like I'm contagious or anything"

He stopped walking and looked over his shoulder, but still said nothing.

"I mean, it looks like we're in it for the long haul here, there's no reason we should be on some sort of ridiculous no talking basis."

He was still just standing there.

"Go ahead, sit down, I think we need to have a little heart to heart, here, I'll start. I'm Miles, I'm a reporter, and I'm totally not being mind controlled by a robotic ghost monster. There, now it's your turn."

This time he actually turned around. He gave the heaviest sight known to mankind, but he was at least facing me now.

He said to me "I don't really think we need to be doing this"

"Non-sense, sit down, it'll be fun."

Still nothing.

"Come on, we may be running from the police and an evil mega corporation, but there's no reason we can't be friends."

"…fine" he went over to the recliner to my right and sat down.

"Ok, so, what did you do for a living?"

"I was a software engineer."

"Sounds fun. Your turn."

"What?"

"I ask a question, you ask a question, seems like the best way to make sure this doesn't turn into me just blathering on for a while."

He had the weirdest look on his face, like he was bumbling through an awkward office party "ummm… do you have any family?"

"Not really, a half-brother. We don't talk much, his name's Tim, lives over in Utah. Last time I saw him was Thanksgiving nearly a year ago." I had gotten myself upright and had the sandwich in hand by this point. "So, you watch any sports?"

"Not really."

"You're just a chatty kathy aren't you?"

"I thought it was my turn to ask a question."

"Ladies and gentlemen Waylon has a sense of humor! It's a miracle."

He smirked and cocked an eyebrow.

"See, I'm not so bad"

"right… so, ah. What exactly were you planning to do. I mean where do we go after this?" he asked.

"I have no idea. I'm ninety percent sure Donnie won't let us stay for too long, but a couple days is long enough to put a plan together."

"I hope so…"

We sat in silence while I scarfed down the sandwich.

"So, do you know where the basement is?"

"Thinking about those cots I see, there's a door in the hallway that leads to the stairs. It looks shady as all hell, but that's the entrance to the basement."

"Ok, I'm going to go do that now…"

"All right, hope talking to me wasn't too painful."

He stood from the chair and muttered "I guess it wasn't" before leaving the room towards the kitchen.

I decided that he wasn't so terrible, there were definitely things he wasn't telling me, but I didn't think he was untrustworthy. I reached over to the end table next to me and clicked on the light, it was nearly fully night outside, with it being November the sun had begun to set earlier, but it wasn't that late. I would have gone over to Donald's bat cave, but I still didn't want to move.

I wasn't in the amount of extreme pain that I should have been, but I still felt like shit. I didn't want to move at any rate, so I flipped on the tv.

It was on the local news channel, which didn't surprise me. It was pretty standard stuff, sports, weather, something about thanksgiving, school business. Nothing too heavy. I flipped the channel, let's see; reality TV, documentary, talk show, horror movie.

I got stuck on the horror. I recognized this movie, it used to scare the shit out of me, but after my own home recorded film it wasn't so bad. Heck, it was boring in retrospect. Long corridor here, jump scare there, gore, screaming teenagers. Snore.

_When did this happen?_

**What?**

_On the screen, who did that?_

**No one did that.**

_But the proof is right there_.

**No, this is a movie, it's fiction. It never happened, it's for entertainment.**

I dawned on me that the Walrider only knew screens to contain security footage. It was weird to realize that the massive murder machine didn't understand such mundane things as TV.

_But you said that killing people was bad, why is it entertainment?_

**It's supposed to be scary. People don't like to see this sort of thing.**

_Then why make it happen?_

**Because it's supposed to scare people, it's complicated.**

_So people like being scared?_

**What, no. Look, it's hard to explain, and don't you have life threatening wounds to be healing?**

_I can multitask._

Great, I'm stuck with a funny man.

I flipped through the channels until I found an episode of Law and Order. It was essentially the perfect background noise and was always on.

"Hey Miles!" it Donald came rushing back into the room, completely overpowering the sound of the TV "who's Billy?" he plopped down next to me on the couch with a laptop in hand.

The truth or a lie, the truth or a lie… "He was the Walrider's host" the truth.

"Shit, what? host?"

"Yep, he's dead too."

"I assumed, the doctor guy seemed like he wanted you to kill him pretty badly."

"Say what you will, but it was self-defense."

"I believe you."

I glanced down at the laptop and saw that it had video from my camera, ready to play.

"Hey, I don't suppose you have my camcorder, I kind of don't want to lose that."

"I figured you'd want to keep an eye on it, here." He handed me the battered machine "I got all the footage saved onto my computer, same with Waylon's, where is he?"

"The basement, you were leading him down there, remember?"

"Oh, right. Well, hand it to him next time you see him, I'm going to be up late looking over this stuff."

"I figured you would be." I took a glance around the room. "I'm just going to crash on the couch tonight, so I'll be here."

"Sounds good, I'll make sure to come and bother you if I have any more questions"

Just when I thought he was about to leave he started talking again.

"One more thing, who's Trager? There were a couple of files about him in here and he was mentioned on this news report a while ago- oh ya, you're wanted for kidnapping, just letting you know. But I haven't seen him on any footage."

The bit about kidnapping didn't faze me much. "Oh, you'll see Trager in there."

I wasn't looking at him when I said it, but at my hands.

"You sure I won't miss him, it's not like you've got much of a narrative with the footage.

"I'll make sure to bring my announcers voice to the next Bedlam house I visit. But trust me, you can't miss him."

"Ok, if you say so." With that he stood up and went back down the hall to his computer cave.

Once he was out of sight, I let my head rest against the back of the couch again. It was dark out, I should just call it a day. Nightmares be damned, I needed some rest.

***Waylon***

It was nearly ten before I managed to herd the boys down stairs and get enough cots set up. Connor was half asleep, which meant that Garret was now wide awake and much more talkative than he had been in the car.

"So, do you think there's a soccer ball around here?" he asked me

"I don't know Garret, we can ask Donald tomorrow." I replied while spreading a blanket over a cot.

"It's late you two, get to sleep." Lisa said motioning towards two prepared beds.

Connor complied and flopped down on the covers. He got like this every night, he may be outgoing and talkative during the day, but if it's past nine he turns into a zombie.

"But Mooooom…. I'm not tired." Garret however had endless energy. We had him in too many sports to count, he loved them all, but was still painfully shy. Either way, the only way to get him to bed was to make sure he had a busy day before, and sitting in a car for four hours wasn't exactly tiring for him.

"Shhh Garret, it's late. We can play catch or something in the morning." I was too tired to fight him about it now.

"Really!?" he was beaming at me, as if he wanted to play a game now.

"You betcha kiddo, but now it's night, so head to bed, ok?"

"Ok, but we are playing a full game right? With teams?"

I stifled a yawn, "Sure, we can get Miles and Donald to play too."

"Yay!" he scampered off and got under the covers of his cot as if trying to fall asleep quickly so that the morning would come faster.

With the two boys at least laying down I turned to Lisa. We began to speak quietly.

"Hey, how are you?" I had to know how she really felt. It was too often that she would put up a tough exterior, usually for my sake.

She took a look at the cots and didn't answer until she was sure the boys couldn't hear her. "I don't even know" she rested her head in her hand "I'm just… so worried, I don't know what we're going to do."

She was only repeating all of my own fears "I'm sure we'll figure something out"

"I hope so"

We both stood there for a second, looking at the bunker like basement.

"Hey Lisa?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

She smiled a plane but warm smile and leaned into a hug. I hug her back.

"I love you too"

It's a gentle hug and for a while we simply stood there to enjoy each-others company. She's warm and soft to the touch, it's almost enough to make me forget about the pain in my leg and stomach, after too short of a time we separate.

"Go ahead and lie down, I'll get the lights, you need to get off that leg."

I complied and rested on the cot. I didn't realize how fatigued I really was until I was on my back and ready to sleep. Shortly after I laid down the light switched off, I could only just make out Lisa's silhouette through the darkness. I could see her outline move to the cot adjacent to mine.

"Good night" she said in the darkness

I only wished that the day would come "Good night" I said back to her.


	10. 10, Good Morning

AN: Hey guys. Again, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. Sorry for this being such a short chapter, especially sense it's Friday, but... this one physically hurt me to write, once I was done I had to put the computer down and walk away for a couple of hours. Again it's not _that_ gory, but... you'll see.

*** Waylon***

I woke up to a distant voice. Colored lights flashed from outside the little window. It took a second for the world to come into focus, but when it did the sounds became more clear.

"Waylon Park and Miles Upshur! Come out with your hands up, we have the building surrounded."

I wiped the sleep from my eyes. What?

"We can end this without bloodshed, please come out with your hands up."

Hands up? Prying myself from the cot I leaned up against the wall to get a look outside. There were squad cars and SUV's littering the front yard, with markings ranging from the sheriff's department, to county police, to unmarked black. Men in Kevlar vests and full scale tactical gear were everywhere to be seen.

"Oh my god…" they found me, they found me for a crime I didn't commit against a company that deserved the worse all humanity could offer.

"Waylon, what's going on?"

I looked over my shoulder to see Lisa awake and holding Garret who looked wide awake and terrified.

"Shhh. It's ok."

It was not ok and Lisa knew it.

"I'll be right back, I have to go do something." I had to do something, I don't know what exactly, but something.

"…but dad"

"It's all right Garret. I'll be right back, I pinky promise."

"Ok"

I looked at Lisa "I'll be right back"

"Ok, hey Waylon."

"…ya?"

"I love you"

God she looked scared "I love you too, I'll be right back."

I kept eye contact as long as I could before having to turn to go up the stairs. The walk was longer than I remembered it being. It felt like ages before I peeked my head around the corner that led to the living room.

Everything was bathed in blue and red light, including Miles's sleeping figure. How was he still asleep? Never mind that, the man who must have been speaking through a bull horn gave another warning that I failed to hear, less than a second later there was a heavy thump at the front door.

There was another thunderous thud, the thing shook on its hinges. Oh god, that sound triggered my flight responses more than I thought humanly possible. There was nowhere to hide in here, nowhere to hide!

The door flew through the air, landing with the force of a truck wreck. Men in full body armor wielding I-don't-know what kind of guns stormed the room.

"Get on the ground! Get on the ground!" one of them came charging at me, while some others started screaming at a sleeping Miles.

I moved, I don't know where to, but I moved. Things were too fast, there were people, things were too loud. There was gunfire. I hit something, I was falling. Falling, what were they saying!?

I landed in the dark, people were quiet again, but only for a second.

Before I lifted my head half a dozen men were yelling to get on the ground. I looked up. I'd landed on the couch. I'd landed on Miles. Miles who was not awake but sitting upright. I launched myself back, screaming like a little girl. There was panic fire at my movement, I don't blame them. It was loud there was a pain like fire in my shoulder. There was screaming, more than just my own. I was on the ground. Looking up I saw the meal storm of vaporized flesh and shattered bone that told me the Walrider was here.

Scrambling on the floor I escaped, the police, or SWAT, or whatever weren't so lucky. The screaming, oh god the screaming! I went down the hall, scrambling on the floor I only barely dove into a room to escape an oncoming squad. I don't know how the hell they got there and I didn't care. I had to get back to Lisa and the boys.

Somehow, as if every ounce of misfortune I had had the night before was being repaid with good luck I had gone into the door leading to the stairwell. Clutching my badly bleeding shoulder I half fell down the stairs and into the basement.

Everyone was awake now, Garret had buried himself into Lisa's side and Connor wasn't far off.

"Waylon, you're bleeding!"

"Dad I'm scared!"

I had no breath, this was a terrible idea, I couldn't talk.

Above me the sound of combat boots hitting the ground and panic fire raged. Garret was sobbing, Lisa was barely keeping it together, and I couldn't say a damn thing. I was so useless, I-!

There was someone coming down the stairs. Even footsteps. I could hear myself breathing, so useless! I put myself between my family and the doorway.

"I know you're down here" the voice was a man's and much too calm.

I pressed back towards Lisa, trying to block her and the boys as much as plausible. Around the corner stepped a man of unimpressive stature who seemed twenty feet tall in the dim light.

"Waylon Park. You've caused quite the bit of trouble."

I wasn't talking, my breath was too ragged and the pain from the gun wound didn't help.

"This must be the family mentioned in your personnel file." He eyed them with a clinical gaze, I shuffled again trying to block them from sight.

"You know…" he glanced at the pistol in his hand "for all the trouble you've cause Murkoff, outright killing you would be letting you off easy, and I can't let that happen, now can I?"

Without waiting for a reply he raised the gun level and took aim, not at me, but just past me. I couldn't let that happen, I lunged. I expected to die, to get shot; I jumped at him with all of my strength. The gun fired up into the air. I landed on him, but he stayed upright; kneed me in the gut right across the wound from Blaire. I slid to the ground, but held onto his arms. He kicked at me, after an eternal struggle I hit the ground.

"Cocky bastard." He leveled the gun at me.

No, not here in front of my family! A second after I was sure he pulled the trigger there was a primal scream. I never closed my eyes, I saw Lisa lung at him, tackling him from the side. I heard more yelling, I heard my boys screaming. I heard the gun roar once again.

The world stopped, all the adrenalin and color drained and Lisa sunk to the floor, leaving the man splattered in hot blood.

"Lisa!" I screamed it. I yelled with a voice that rubbed my throat raw and made me taste blood.

I twisted and crawled to her. She was on her back, eyes wide open and pinned to the ceiling. I grabbed her, she was still warm and soft, but wet with scarlet fluid.

"Lisa!" I held her crumbled form in my arms, squeezing for dear life. I held her for a second that lasted a grim lifetime. I loosened my hold to look her in the eyes. They were empty and glossed over, empty of spark that had lighted my world. She was gone.

"…Lisa. No. No. No!" I sobbed. I sobbed and couldn't see her limp body through the tears.

"Bitch got blood on my suit"

That bastard, I was going to kill him! I was going to rip him apart with my own damn hands! I was going to-!

I got kicked in the head. Tumbling over to the side Lisa's still warm body sagged to the cold ground. The bastard kicked me while I was down and pinned under my dead wife.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to remove blood stains?" he put his foot on my wounded shoulder and drove in his heel.

"I'm…. going t-… murder you…"

"Pfft, good luck from down there." He glanced toward the staircase. "Help! I have a hostile! One down, I need a doctor!"

I could feel myself foaming at the mouth with rage. Never had I been so angry.

"Careful there, you look like you've gone insane" he looked down at me and had just enough time to deliver his smug ass comment before a man in tactical gear came down.

I was forced onto my stomach, only to have my hands zip tied together. With all the blood roaring in my ears I couldn't hear a word they said. All that preoccupied my view was Lisa's limp body and my sobbing sons huddled behind her on the cot.


	11. 11, Sweet Dreams

AN: I feel like I should apologize for Friday, so here's an extra long chapter. Anyways, thank you to everyone who's commented so far. Also, heads up there is some major gore in this chapter (I feel so bad for Waylon).

***Miles***

_Wake up_

"No"

_Wake. Up._

"I said no"

_UP_

Raging static came with that one, which forced me to lurch upward in surprise.

"Gahh. Ok I'm up." I plopped back down onto the bed as I said the words.

Wait a second. Bed? I took a look around to see that I was most definitely not in Donald's living room. For starters I was in a hospital bed, strapped to a bed actually. Both of my hands were in leather restraints, as was my unbroken leg.

Oh god not another hospital, it was a dream, must have been a dream. I still flailed at the bindings, or tried.

_Don't move_

The feeling started to drift out of my limbs, forcing me to stop any struggle. I was still breathing raggedly, fighting to keep control of at least that. My eyes darted from side to side trying to take in every detail at once.

It was bright, well lit. The walls were clean and white, the floor was free of grime, a curtain hung around the bed but left enough room for a small mountain of machines, all of which beeped or had a set of blinking lights. The far wall was made up of windows, by the door was a police officer.

I looked at him for a second, not sure of where I was or what to do. He didn't break eye contact with me, but knocked twice on the window behind him. Only then did I notice that the hallway outside was abuzz with nurses, doctors, and orderlies. Also outside were two other cops with their back to the window. One of them noticed the knocks and said something into a radio.

**Walrider, what the hell is going on?**

_We're in a hospital_

**I can see that. Why?**

…

**Why?**

My vision blurred for a moment and a sort of screen, not unlike before in the car, took up my field of view.

It was of Donald's living room, only bathed in flashing red and blue light. There was no sound to the visuals, but I got a clear view of the door getting bashed inward and SWAT rushing in. The next part was all sorts of commotion, with three officers surrounding me with guns at the ready and one charging around a corner out of my view.

I shifted upward, I knew I wasn't awake for this, so it had to be my house guests doing. My view was perfectly still, and facing forwards. Something distracted the men that made them look to the left. There was a small spurt of gun fire and something fell onto my lap.

It was Waylon. Holy shit, did they kill him?

Nope. He pushed himself up, took one good look at me and grew a look of terror on his face, I was sure he screamed, but I still heard nothing. He backed away in a panic. My view swiveled to the left revealing a man in tactical gear who was grabbing my shoulder. It was faster this time, the swarm, with black static engulfing his hand without sparing a second.

He fought to move, to escape, but the Walrider followed him. He fired wildly into the air, losing blood and bone as he fell back. The other men opened fire, hitting me at least half a dozen times. There was more incorporeal darkens flowing towards them, engulfing one completely. The man was hoisted into the air, twitching like a dying fly, and ripped to shreds. Pulled apart cell by cell until he started coming down as sticky rain. The second man to open fire on me lie in shock, dusted in the remains of his friend. The swarm came down on him, peeling the skin away from his skull layer by layer. The muscles and tendons of his face strained under what I knew had to be screaming. Each stand of flesh melted away into the air until all that was left was a half a body with blended organs spilling over the sides and onto a carpet.

The 'video' swelled and faltered. In the last grainy moments of it I saw the swarm meld back into me through the newly acquired wounds, more men swarmed in the background, but the whole thing cut out before any more happened.

Shit.

The hospital room came back into focus, it suddenly made sense why I was shackled down and had an armed guard.

Speaking of the guard, he was staring at me with an unblinking gaze and had his hand ready to grab the pistol at his side. He was looking so intently at me that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the door next to him opened and in stepped a youngish doctor clad in a lab coat and wire frame glasses.

"Wow, you're actually awake." he stepped toward the bed and immediately checked the machines at my side "Hey, draw the curtains, would ya?"

It took me a second to realize that he was talking to the cop at the door, who reluctantly walked over and drew the curtain, granting some privacy. Now, I knew I was safe and sound in a working hospital that was filled with licensed doctors who were in no way thinking about killing me, but the last time I had seen someone strapped to a stretcher like this they were missing their tongue and balls, so I was a little bit twitchy.

_I could get us out of this._

**No. I'm back in the saddle, you can shut up now.**

The young doctor turned around after inspecting the screens. "Hi I'm Dr. Fin, if I'm not mistaken you're Miles Upshur. Now, it's sort of a miracle that you're awake right now, do you have any unusual pains?"

The cop scoffed a bit in the corner.

I freaking should, I got shot, again.

"_No"_

The Walrider needed to let me talk on my own, **I'm a big boy; I can speak.**

Dr. Fin muttered as he scribbled down some notes; "patient exhibits unusual lack of pain, appears to have damaged vocal cords."

He looked back up at me "ok Mr. Upshur, I have a few questions, like how long have you had those other bullet wounds?"

"_It's only been-"_

**I said I can talk on my own!**

"...It's been a day."

He huffed in surprise "Really?"

"Yes really."

"Interesting," he scribbled more on his note pad "And you said you haven't had any pain"

"No" I knew why, but he didn't need to know.

"…Strange"

I played along "why?"

"It doesn't look like you've been getting any morphine, which is odd because there are no clots in the machine."

**Hey Walrider, you should stop screwing with the machine.**

_Why would I do that?_

**Because if I have morphine in my system that means you don't have to play pain blocker.**

_Why?_

**Because it blocks pain**

_There are chemicals that do that?_

**Yes, now let the thing do its job and go heal a bullet hole or something.**

There was a noise that sounded mysteriously like a teenager grumbling after getting grounded

"Yep, that's strange alright."

"Also, you say the wounds you didn't get last night happened only a day ago"

"Yes"

He cocked an eyebrow while he was scribbling notes "Look, Miles. You can be straight with me, when did you actually get these injuries?"

I gave a deep breath, then eyed the cop. The doctor made up his own meaning and said "You mind giving us a bit of privacy?"

He hesitated a bit before stepping onto the other side of the curtain and saying that he would still be in ear shot.

"Ok, so what happened?"

"This sounds insane, but I'm here under false pretenses, I got these wounds yesterday, but that's not the strange part. I didn't rob a bank or anything else illegal, I'm a reporter who went to investigate a lead at Mount Massive asylum, when I got there the patients had taken over and Murkoff wants to hide it under a rug, so they framed me. I'm innocent and have proof

"Wow, wow. Slow down, what?"

"I got shot the first time when I was at the asylum, broke my leg there too."

"Stop." He looked at me for a second. "Let's say that that's true" he was talking slowly "and I'm not saying it is, but talk me through what happened."

This wasn't going to end well. "I got an email from someone who worked at the asylum, they said that there were unethical experiments going on, I knew Murkoff had gotten up to some terrible things overseas, so I had to check it out if they were pulling something on American soil"

"Ok, I'm following you so far."

"I got there two nights ago and found a bunch of military looking Humvees, I sort of let myself in and got trapped their really quickly. Nearly everyone inside was dead, and half the people who weren't tried to kill me, that's how I got so banged up."

"And you said you had proof of this?"

"Yes. I had a camcorder with me, I have no idea where it is, I don't even know where I am right now."

"Mercy East Baptist Hospital, and anything that was in the house would be in evidence down at the police station."

"I have to get that camera. There should have been two, either one would prove my story beyond a shadow of a doubt, you have to believe me."

There was something in the young guys face that told me he did, but that could have been wishful thinking.

"I'll have to let the sheriff know about-"

"What are you doing out here?" a very severe voice came from the other side of the curtain before it was brushed to the side to reveal a woman in khakis with a utility belt that would make Batman jealous and badge that could stop a bullet.

"uh, I- the doctor…" the cop stammered out a response

"Never mind, we'll talk back at the station."

She turned to face Dr. Fin. With them side by side I decided that either she was built like a freaking Amazon or that Fin could fit into a size two cocktail dress, maybe both.

"Sheriff Stiles, we were just talking about-"

"Unless it's about his medical history you shouldn't be talking to him at all"

I'll hand it to the little wispy Fin, Stiles might have been half a foot taller than him, but he didn't waiver much "But I really think you should listen, this might be really important to the case"

"You're a doctor, not a detective, remember what happened last time you got involved?"

"It was only one pigmy goat"

"One?"

"Ok, one dozen, but it doesn't change that fact that this is important"

Great it was the crazy doctor that believed me.

"I hate to but in, but-"

"And you," she eyed my over quickly "you have been placed under arrest. You have the right to remain silent anything you say can and will be used against you, you have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you…"

Maranda rights? Really?

"… do you understand these rights as I have told them to you?"

"But I'm innocent, I swear, I can prove it!"

She sighed in annoyance, "hey doc, call me when he's off his meds, we're not going to get anywhere when he's all drugged up"

"Actually he's not any meds right now."

"What?"

"Ya, for some reason none of the morphine was going into his system, no clogs or anything, but it wasn't leaving the bag."

I had to take a gamble "I can explain why that happened."

"Sure you can" Stiles gave a role of the eyes

"I can, I just need the two camcorders you had to have found, what's on those tapes can explain everything."

"Right." She didn't give any hint of what might be going on in her mind, but seemed nearly ready to say something when there was a knock at the window.

Another officer that must have been outside earlier popped his head in

"Hey, sheriff, the feds are-" he was jostled to the side before he could finish and two more people entered into the curtained off area.

It was a man who stood at an unimpressive height, maybe five foot five and was dressed in an overly expensive suit and a woman who was wearing sunglasses inside a hospital and struck me as trouble.

"Agents" Sheriff Stiles did not seem to welcome their company.

"Step aside sheriff, this is our case." It was the man that spoke first, I didn't like him, his voice was too level, not commanding, just devoid of any real emotion, nearly robotic.

"The hell it is, he was arrested in my jurisdiction for a crime he committed in state, the FBI has no business here and he's not leaving the county until the proper paperwork gets filed."

There was no way these guys were FBI. I knew some guys on the inside, it was against policy to be so brash and stomp on local law enforcement, and there was no way an FBI field agent could afford a two thousand dollar pair of shoes.

"…and that's what I think about your paper work." The woman just got done talking and the sheriff looked like she'd just been slapped across the face.

"And can't this hospital afford working lights?" that was the man talking, being distracted I didn't notice that the florescent bulbs above me had flickered.

Any day in the past and I would have just assumed it was a short, but now I thought different. The Walrider was out, not in its solid visual form, but out none the less.

Oh shit, I could only hope that it wasn't going to go on a murderous rampage, I mean, It had to at least sort of listen to me, even if it wasn't drilled into my head like usual. Right? My panic and change in status set the monitor next to my head into a panicked frenzy, cutting off whoever was going to be talking next.

"Ok, I'm making a call as a medical professional so I'll have to tell you to Get. Out." It was little weedy Dr. Fin that ended the show-down between the hard headed law enforcement.

The three others complied even though it was obvious that they still had words to meant for each other. The doctor was flitting around, checking machines and readying syringes. In the commotion I had to notice that I wasn't in pain despite not having the Walrider glued to my side, morphine was an amazing thing.

"Are you in any pain? Do you feel any different."

A little groggy "Nope" my vision was swelling and dotted, the meds worked fast.

There was a little flashlight in his hand, I was aware that he was shining it into my eyes, but I didn't really care. He muttered something about something, I don't know, I didn't quite make it out.

"Sure, ok I'm just going to…" fall asleep.

***Waylon***

"Shhh, I think he's waking up"

There was a quiver in the next voice "Well then send for Dr. Fin"

A door opened and shut. I cracked my eyes open a little at a time, it was much too bright in here. By the time I finally pried my eyes open the room contained only me, a police officer by the door, and a man who looked like he was in his twenties and was dressed in a lab coat.

"You can step outside" the man I assumed to be Dr. Fin said to the officer.

"But Dr. Fin, this man is dangerous, I don't think I should be leaving you alone with-"

"I talked to the last guy and he didn't seem too bad, besides, I'll be asking about his medical history, that stuffs confidential"

"But-"

"Out you go" he waved to the door and didn't give the officer a second glance.

The man begrudgingly complied. As he walked out the door the doctor turned to me

"We're not going to talk about your medical history. More like I've got a story to confirm."

What he was saying didn't quite dawn on me, the meds were still pretty thick in my system and my head wasn't really on strait.

He kept talking regardless "Miles said you two were framed, gave a whole explanation as to why, he said he was telling me the truth, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Framed? I realized I was strapped to a gurney. Cops. I got arrested. Last night, was it last night? Lisa, she was gone, no. The boys? Where were the boys?

"Where are my sons?"

The doctor looked taken aback "What?"

"My kids, Connor and Garret, where are my boys?"

"You have children?"

"Yes! Now where are they?"

His eyes were the size of dinner plates "there weren't any brought in with… Oh god this is bad."

"You don't know where- Murkoff. Murkoff has to have taken them, I swear I sound insane, but that company is behind all of this!"

"That's what your buddy said, you have to tell me what exactly happened, in your words I mean" he had a strange mix of enthusiasm and worry painted over his face.

"I used to work for Murkoff, right? And there were terrible things going on, experimentation on patients and everything, the whole nine yards. I tried to tell someone, but they locked me up. They threatened my wife when she tried to help me, and- oh god Lisa…"

The young doctor looked like he just swallowed a snake "What happened next, I need to know."

I didn't want to cry, Lisa wouldn't want me to fall apart "Then I got out when the patients escaped and Murkoffs work came back to bit them in the ass. And I can prove it. I swear, there's evidence in the form of a video, I had a camera with me that I found. It has everything on it. I didn't think I was going to get out, I didn't think…"

"It's all right…" the look on the man's face told me that things were not all right.

"I have to find them!"

"Wow, Waylon, Mr. Park, I think you should stay down"

I pulled at the restraints that fastened my arms.

"Waylon, seriously, calm down!" There was a hint of panic in the man's voice.

"Hey Doc, everything ok in there?" the cop that had left the room opened the door.

"I have to find my boys!" I think I was yelling now, I'm not all that sure.

The officer responded like I was howling like a mad man, pulling the doctor back, only for the two to erupt into a small argument of their own.

"The guy's obviously insane!"

"No, it's just a mental break from extreme grief."

The talked back and forth until:

"Hey! Shut up you two."

Looking up and away from the two men and towards the door I saw him. I saw the monster that killed Lisa, he was there suit and a scowl and I wanted to punch his face in.

"You bastard!" I was yelling "You killed her!" I tore wildly at the restraints "you killed her!"

"Do something to shut him up" the man was talking in to level a tone, as if nothing were out of the ordinary around him

"Agent Drayer this is hardly the time to-"

"I said do something" his words were absolute, as if he wouldn't take anyone else into consideration

Dr. Fin looked reluctant, but stepped over and started fiddling with the machines to my right. I didn't care, I still struggled against the leather restraints, I still yelled for all I was worth at the man. He killed Lisa in front of our children! And now my kids were gone, he had to have something to do with it.

I bucked and screamed until my tongue grew heavy in my mouth. Even when I couldn't stand to move I slurred obscenities at the man. I don't know how long I kept that up, it felt like forever, but at some point I subcame to the chemicals and drifted back into a dreamless haze.

That was, dreamless for a while.

I found myself in a darkened attic, hiding between two discarded book shelves. The room was cast into a greenish glow, but I held no camera. Sliding through the crag I heard something;

"Dad?"

Connor?

"Dad!"

"Connor, Garret? Is that you!" I started tumbling through the maze of furniture and splintered wood.

Their yells for me echoed through the dusty chamber. I knew I was screaming out to them, telling them it would be ok, that I was coming. I clawed through the dark until I came to a set of stairs. I knew these stairs, I remembered what hell lied beneath this cramped and decrepit attic. Regardless I ran down the steps, I charged downward towards some fresh hell.

The stairs seemed to stretch downward forever, as if leading down into hell itself. All the way down I could hear my boys yelling in frantic confusion:

"Dad!" "Help!" "where are we?" "That hurts!" "Dad?" "I'm scared" "Mom?" "Go away!"

The cries were punctuated by screams and shrieks. I couldn't run fast enough. My legs couldn't move like they were supposed to. For an eternity I raced down the stairs, yet in an instant I found myself in a fresh nightmare.

In a gym. I was in a gym. The ceiling was adorned with rotting and decaying bodies of mutilated men. Blood and putrid flesh dripped down in an unholy rain and onto the wet and streaked floor. The screams of my boys got louder as I walked under the suspended dead. They were there at the end of the rot and horror, curled against a wall and screaming in fear.

"Connor! Garret!" I yelled for them taking a running step to them.

As I did the matted ceiling of flesh erupted in howls and wails of terror and pain. All the living corpses above me slithered and scraped against each other, begging for death and the freedom it brought. The further I went, the faster I ran, the louder they became, the more they struggled and rained down globs of jellied flesh and mutilated limbs.

I walked across the terror, stepping my bear feet into soft liquefying torsos, cutting myself on jagged bones shattered from impact with the ragged ground. I finally come close enough to my boys, only to be stopped.

Not by restraints, not from the pain in my limbs, but from a sight that crushed the air from my lungs and froze my limbs.

"Waylon?" it was Lisa.

It was Lisa suspended on the wall five feet off the ground. She was dead, dead and speaking.

I could hear my breathing, choked breaths that drowned out the calling of the dead, yet quite enough to hear Lisa's fragile words,

"Waylon? What's wrong?"

She was there on the wall, looking down at me like a mutilated angle. Drenched in her own fiery red blood; her torso had been split open and her intestines hung out, some draped up and around her shoulders in a way that mocked the shape of an angel's wings. Her ribs were pulled forward and out exposing the lungs and heart. I could see it sitting still, partially blue from the lack of oxygen and partly brown from the onset of decay.

Her arms and hands sat pinned above her head. They at least were clean, completely unscathed, which only served to emphasize the blood and internal fluids that dripped down her legs, streaked onto the wall, and puddled on the ground.

"What is it Waylon?"

She was talking to me again, I couldn't speak back. I was breathing to hard, I was going to-

"Daaaad!" the boys screamed as they were caught and dragged away.

Jared into movement I jumped for them, onto the horrifying ground. They moved to fast, dragged by I know not what. Clawing over the ground I followed, only to come to a darkened hallway. Running into the dark I fell. I fell hearing their screams, hearing the laughter of some monster. I fell past the floor, long after the ground should have stopped me.

I fell.

I turned to my side and vomited over the end of the bed.

I was still in the hospital, shaking from the nightmare. Every breath of mine quivered and I couldn't forget what I'd seen in my dream. The remains of a sandwich puddled on the ground, the officer at the door looked at me in what I assumed was disgust. I didn't care.

I cried to myself, the world be damned. I cried.


	12. 12, Awkward

AN: Hey guys, I have some bad news and some good news. Bad news: because of complications with my living arrangements I probably won't be able to get online for a while. Good(ish) news: because of that I'm posting this chapter early and am going to put up chapter 13 too. If I can get to a computer/online there will be a chapter Friday, but no promises.

***Miles***

I woke up to find a dull ache had spread through all my limbs. The last thing I remembered was the Walrider leaving and going off on its own for a while, so I checked to see if it had gotten back.

**Hey, anyone home.**

…_Yes._

**OK, for future reference, no skulking around hospitals while I'm unconscious!**

_But I found some useful information._

I may have been in a bad mood from its little field trip, but I still wanted to know what was going on.

**Fine, what?**

Suddenly I knew a whole slew of information. It was as if I just clicked a light on and immediately saw a new room in my own house.

First off, Waylon was alive, but drugged up, he'd been shot too.

Second, those two 'agents' were assholes, and I still doubted they were FBI , either way the man's name was Agent Drayer and the woman was called Agent Figueroa. There had been an argument between them and Sheriff Stiles.

They were insisting that me and Waylon should be transferred over to a hospital in Denver, for 'security'. The sheriff didn't buy it and told them that this clinic was just fine. Figueroa looked like she was about to claw the sheriff but was stopped by a phone call, which caused her to pull Drayer back as well. Before Walrider followed those two to find out what was going on Dr. Fin walked up and immediately told the Sheriff that something was definitely going on.

"Waylon Park had the same story as Miles, and there's no way the two planned this out before hand."

"Don't tell me you were talking to him too Fin, those guys are criminals, they'll do anything to get out of a sticky situation."

"Sheriff, listen to me! Waylon said that there were kids at stake!"

She stopped cold "He threatened children?" her voice had dropped an octave

_Why do people react like that when children are involved._

**Shhhh! I'm thinking.**

…

"No, he has kids, and there's been no mention of them anywhere, you were part of the raid, did you see them?"

"No. There were none there. He's trying to save his own skin, I'm telling you"

"Is not! There was no way he was acting, you didn't see him Sheriff, he looked like he'd been through hell and wasn't quite back yet. Besides…"

"What?" she sounded horribly impatient

"We still have the cadavers down in the freezer, right?"

"…ya, what of 'em?"

"He said he had a wife, Lisa? Did we get an ID on the Jane Doe they brought in?"

The sheriff was silent for a moment.

"Sheriff?"

I have a bad feeling about this.

"Agent Drayer brought in an ID from the basement when he brought Waylon up. It belonged to Lisa Park."

The doctors face sunk "Damn…"

"That doesn't mean he's not trying to get out of this." The sheriff snapped back. "Yes it's a tragedy, but those two still robbed a bank and shot a man on the way out. That and you didn't see the aftermath of what went on, the way the two agents are talking Waylon is the mastermind, but it's Miles that seems to have the violent streak. I don't even know how he did it, but he killed Bronce and Fox, took Coopers' hand off too. Don't talk to them anymore than you have to."

"But sheriff, there's something going on here."

"I mean it Fin, let it go."

The young doctor simmered for a bit and looked like he wanted to retort back, but ended up saying only "Fine."

Damn, this was serious. I needed a way out of this place, I had to get the cameras and get that footage out to the public. After that I would work on clearing my name and bringing Murkoff down.

_Then we can hunt them down like the dogs they are._

**No. I'm not going on a killing spree, I'm getting evidence and bringing them down legally, but I wouldn't mind roughing some of them up first…**

_That we can do._

I took a look around the room, peering at the cop by the door. I seemed to remember that Dr. Fin had dropped by and told the cop to let him know as soon as I woke up. Just like last time the cop knocked on the window behind him, letting the other two cops outside know to call Fin.

"Hey" I said to him "how long have I been out?"

He didn't respond to me.

"Oh come on, I don't bite, even if I did I couldn't reach you from all the way over here."

He huffed out a sigh "It's ten AM, Thursday"

"When did I get in?"

"Five AM Wednesday."

Ok, let me think, it was Monday night when I went into Mount Massive, Tuesday when I came out, I was unconscious all of yesterday. How much shit could Murkoff have gotten done in that amount of time?

…

Things were getting worse by the second. I figured I might as well tap into my trusty reporter skills and see what I could get out of the cop while I was here.

"So, what's your name?"

"I don't want to be talking to you." He drove the antisocial point home by crossing his arms and scowling. It looked like he was trying, and failing, to imitate the Sheriffs intimidating presence.

"Well, that's fine, I'll just blather on for a while, never mind me." I find that people can't help themselves after a while and respond whether they mean to or not, so I continued on "I'm Miles, pretty sure you know that. Ya, so the sheriffs a charming lady, eh?"

"Don't say anything about Julie!"

"Julie Stiles. Sounds like a cop name."

His eyes got a bit wider when he realized he gave out his bosses full name to me.

"Hey, you leave her out of this."

"Well aren't you defensive. You ask me and she looks like a lady that can take care of herself."

His eye narrowed and he uncrossed his arms "Is that a threat?"

"No, not at all. I'm strapped to a bed; I'm in no place to be threatening anyone."

_But this is so easy to get out of_

"Besides, I'm not a violent man, and I would only get my ass handed to me in a brawl."

He was walking towards the bed at this point "Listen you piece of-"

"Hey I need to talk to- Oh, hey Joe, what are you doing?" Dr. Fin had practically burst through the door, if I didn't know any better I'd say he sprinted here.

'Joe' turned around to see eye to eye with the doctor. "I was just… chatting with Miles."

"Yep, you're a wonderful conversationalist." I made sure to give him the biggest most sincere smile I could offer.

Fin stood in confusion for a split second only to usher Joe from the room.

"Sorry, I've got to discuss confidential patient information, medical history and all that."

"But-"

"Sorry, I've got to insist this time. Talk to you later."

"I mean-"

"Bye!" the young man slammed the door shut then rushed to my side and pulled the curtain.

"Does Waylon have kids?"

"Oh hi, nice to see you too."

"I really, really need to know." He looked panicked and like he hadn't slept last night.

"Yes" he was checking whether or not Waylon had been telling him the truth, I knew it.

His eyes got wide.

"Hey dock?"

"…Ya?"

I held my silence a bit longer I should have "Everything Waylon told you was true, I swear. Also, don't trust Agent Drayer or Figueroa, they don't seem like real FBI agents to me."

"What are you trying to-"

"Listen, I don't think that things are on the up and up here. If Waylon's kids have gone missing I'm sure Murkoff has to do with it, and Agent Drayers the one who brought him in, so I think he's in with the corporation. Probably Figueroa too."

He seemed to have trouble swallowing or taking a breath. "If they aren't FBI, then that would mean that… wait. How did you know Waylon's kids were missing?"

Fuck. "um…. I hadn't heard about them?"

"That doesn't explain why-"

"Fin!"

The curtain was whipped to the side revealing Sheriff Stiles and Joe the cop. Dr. Fin looked like he was about to shit a brick, I'm sure I didn't have the brightest look on my face either.

"I told you not to talk to him." She was clearly furious, but still had a stern undertone to her voice.

"But Sheriff, there's something going on here, and he knows what it is!"

"Hey!" that was me.

All three of them immediately looked straight at me.

"You don't get a say in this." That was the sheriff.

"No you don't get it, this is important! The Murkoff Corporation is breaking dozens of laws right now! I have proof, it's in the video cameras. I know you have them in evidence!"

"What's in evidence isn't your problem, Fin give him some meds to calm him down."

"I don't want any meds!" the bag of morphine popped and one of the screens fizzled and started smoking.

I could hear static raging though it was clear that no one else did.

The sheriff took charge "Joe, get an orderly in here to clean this up. Fin, fix this"

"Sheriff, I'm going to have to ask you to leave, ever sense you walked in here his condition has gotten worse."

"He's my prisoner, and I'm not going anywhere" she was absolute.

_We could just kill them both._

"What I say here goes, this is a hospital, I'm a doctor, and this is my patient!"

_It would be easy, maybe the man would scream._

"This is my county, I'm the sheriff, and he's my prisoner."

_The woman might be quite, but more entertaining._

"Shut up! We're not killing anybody, so stop asking!"

_But-_

"No buts!"

I took a shuddering breath, only to realize that they had stopped yelling and started looking at me.

I stared back dumbly before stammering out "well, this is awkward"


	13. 13, Too Easy

***Miles***

One week had gone by. One week of hearing what I could from Walrider, one week of healing, and one week of police custody. It was strange, I hadn't seen or talked to Waylon this entire time, but I knew how he was, I'd even seen into dream or two. I'm not sure exactly how, but I did. He wasn't doing well, his wife was dead and his children were missing and he blames himself. I couldn't imagine what that must be like; all I know is that every time I've looked at him he's been coming to terms with it more and more. Now it seems like the only thing that's keeping him together is his resolve to find his boys and get revenge.

I myself was physically ok, which did concern me. People don't usually heal from a broken fibula in a week. All the flesh wounds were gone as well, according to Fin I wasn't taking in any meds from the machine except periodic amounts of morphine. And I only seemed to eat half the hospital food with no weight loss. He was stumped; the sheriff was suspicious, but chalked it up to drugs. The 'agents' said mysteriously little, and the cops that guarded my room had started rumors amongst themselves, but I knew what was behind it.

I was in a legal gray zone, the hospital wasn't supposed to release a suspect from custody until some amount of time had passed, but I was completely fine in half the time the state required me to be there, so I was just sort of… here. Waiting, plotting my escape. There was no way I was going to prison and I had a feeling Waylon was thinking along the same lines. It was Friday night that I decided to put my little plan into action.

I lay in my hospital bed just like normal, staring at the cop on guard, it had become a habit of mine; they usually got twitchy after a while and looked for excuses to leave their posts, I'd been at this for three days straight.

On guard now was an older cop, last name Meyer. He took longer to crack than some of the younger guys, but was extremely superstitious and listened endlessly to the myths the guys had been making about me.

It took over half an hour of me just looking at him before he found an excuse to leave in the form of a passing nurse, whom he struck up conversation with. The second he was out of the hall way I went into action.

"ok, just like I said"

The dense black swarm of the Walrider phased through my skin and gathered around my wrist, slicing through the leather restraint. Quickly I cut through the remaining three cuffs. Now sitting upright I pulled the IV tubes from my body, not spilling a drop of blood from any of the wounds they left behind.

Leaping from the bed I went quickly to the hallway and checked for people. No one was there. Stepping out the door I turned to the right, I had a vague idea of where Waylon's room was, thanks to some extracurricular snooping.

I was walking down a long hallway, noting that there were too few places to hide. Waylon's room should be further down, just pass a nurses station. Half way down the hall I can to the opened nurses area. Peering my head around the corner I could see the weedy Dr. Fin talking with another doctor and a nurse at the desk. Moving back around the corner I caught the tail end of their conversation.

"…ok, see you guys later, I have to go make my rounds"

"Same here, bye"

Someone's footsteps were getting louder, moving quickly I opened the first door I came to and slipped inside. It was a family restroom, containing only one toilet and sink. I would have to wait out whoever it was, get Waylon, then get out. I stood in the room and held my breath as the person drew near to the door.

My heart skipped a beat when the door opened.

It was Dr. Fin.

"Wha-?"

I grabbed him by the coat collar, slammed the door shut, and bashed him against the wall.

I dropped him on contact

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

"uhg, ah…Miles?"

"Shhhhh" I held my remaining index finger to my lips

"What are you-"

I clamped a hand over his mouth. "please be quiet"

Shit. Shitshitshitshit. What was I supposed to do now?

_Like I said before, we could just kill him._

**No. You aren't killing the doctor**

He was mumbling something behind my hand. While he seemed panicked, it wasn't as panicked as one should be when confronted by an accused criminal in the bathroom in the middle of the night.

He pulled my hand down and gasped out a few words "What are you doing here?"

"I..."

"Oh, you're trying to escape." He pushed himself into the wall as far as he could, but looked me level in the eyes.

"Well, I'm just a scrawny bookish doctor type, and you're a bank robber SWAT hunter criminal. Far be it for me to get in your way." He scooted away from the door. Was he letting me go?

"Thank you" I was sincere

"Thank me for what? I'm just a guy in the bathroom who in no way saw an escaping criminal."

It looked like there were still good people in the world after all. Taking the hint I left the bathroom and snuck past the nurses station. It's good to know that at least someone believed me, there's no way Fin would have turned a blind eye if he didn't buy at least a little bit of the truth.

I was nearing Waylons room only to find that the cop who was stationed there wouldn't be so easy to get rid of.

It was good old Joe. He's proven himself to be quite the asshole over the last week, it seemed like every time he was in my room Dr. Fin had to be called in to calm the situation down, and even then there were usually a few more harsh words and I had to literally beat the Walrider down with a stick to keep it from going after the men.

I doubted I could take him on in a fight, I could probably do it physically now- what with the Walrider's power- but I didn't want to turn him into a postmodern stain on the wall. I'd have to be more subtle about this.

**Ok, you're going to have to follow my instructions to the letter here.**

_And what are they?_

**I need you to make an appearance, but you can't touch anybody. You got that, no funny business.**

…_where do I need to be?_

**In Waylon's room, I need a full body terrifying appearance, but don't actually touch anyone.**

_In there?_

**Yes in there, but are you listening to me? Do. Not. Hurt. Anyone.**

_You're no fun._

With that the swarm phased through the skin on my arms and gathered into haze in the hallway. I don't think I'll ever get used to the slimy, oily feeling that came with the Walrider moving into the world around me.

The Walrider moved down the hall and filtered under the door. Through the window I could see the lights of the room flickering, Joe glanced up at, I could see Waylon tensing, probably remembering some of his own ordeals in the asylum. Only then did I realize that I was probably going to scare the living shit out of him too.

"Sorry about this Waylon" I muttered under my breath

In the room the lights were set flickering. After a mere second of that the curtain rods began to shake and rattle. Joe was clearly agitated, yelling at Waylon, who was fighting against the restraints on his bed. The poltergeist activity in the room got worse with monitors sparking and releasing smoke. The light bulbs in the room popped and rained their burning residue to the ground.

All movement in the room stopped.

Then a mist started to form. A dark cloud congealed in the center of the room, floating free in the air. The cloud took shape, twisting into the form of a man with no face, a body stripped of skin and made of exposed muscle. The dreaded figure of the Walrider hung in midair.

Joe had his back against the wall, I couldn't see his face but I could imagine the fear that must have been in his eyes. It must have been a great thing to see.

It must have been a terrible thing to see. The Walrider glided around the room like a kite in the breeze, then it went freaking haywire and charged Joe. He grasped at the door, fought with the knob for a second, then rushed into the hall. He sprinted the other way, probably without any idea of where he was going. I probably didn't have much time now, but it would take a while for him to find anyone who would believe that he had a ghost sighting.

Moving quickly I went to the now wide open door. The Walrider still hung midair in the room, I simply walked through it, only to have the swarm dissipate and slither back into my skin.

"Come on, time to go." I said as I undid the restraints on his hands.

"Wha-uhh, Miles?" he seemed scared, surprised, and weary as he rubbed his wrists.

"Ya it's me, I know, I know, freaky Walrider appearance, whatever. Lets get out of here." I had undone all the leather shackles and held out a hand to help him from the bed.

He took it and said "We need to find my boys, I'm not going anywhere without them"

I pulled him up, "there not here, trust me, I would know if they were."

He looked like he wanted to ask me how but I cut him off.

"Look, it won't be long before someone notices I'm gone, we need to get the hell out of here" I walked to the door, only to have him follow.

The hallway was still empty although I could hear chatter from the nurses station. I ushered Waylon to the right where there should be a door.

We were both silent, I was pulling on instinct that served me well in the asylum, I'm pretty sure Waylon was too. We turned the corner. The hall was long with doors on either side, but is was empty and at the far end were glass sliding doors that lead to a parking lot. Half way down the hall I was thinking that this was too easy, but I didn't question it.

The two of us went down the hall without so much as a whisper. The doors slid open like a couple of pearly gates and we were out.

It was the middle of the night, probably some ungodly hour in the morning, the lot was devoid of life and nearly empty of cars. I had to admit I hadn't planned much past this point, I knew I had to get to the police station and find the cameras in the evidence lock up, but I didn't know where that was or how we would get there. Waylon on the other hand seemed to have an idea.

He walked, rather stiffly, to the nearest car and pulled at the handle. The thing happened to be unlocked, he looked up and waved me over.

I sunk into the passenger seat, then turned to look at him "Hey great we can get in, but there aren't any keys."

Without a word he popped a panel from under the steering wheel, took a second to fiddle with some wires, then looked up as the engine rumbled to life.

I couldn't help but chuckle "Two car thefts in a week, you're starting to form a habit Waylon"

He commented back "my roommate in college was an electrical engineer, we both liked cars and he was kind of sketchy"

I'd have to dig into Waylon's past later.

"In the mean time we need to find the police station"

"Any idea where it is?" he pulled the sedan onto the nearest street.

"Not one, but this towns so small it's only got two stop lights, it can't be that hard to find."

He didn't reply and instead drove down the darkened road. I didn't move to turn on the radio and I couldn't bring myself to look out the window and distract myself, so I did what came naturally and talked.

"Hey Waylon, we'll find your boys. It'll be ok."

"How did you know-?" he stopped himself took a second to think then went on "It's not ok, nothing about this is ok."

"I know, but we can get your kids back, then we can make sure that Murkoff burns to the ground."

_Do you really mean that?_

**Figuratively.**

Waylon gave a heavy sigh "You know, while I was in the asylum I thought about destroying the camera, not telling anyone about what happened there. I thought that evil like that should just be left to rot and burn itself out. But now I realize that things like that don't just go away, they have to be taken down screaming and kicking. First we find my sons, then we wipe the name Murkoff off the face of the planet."

He didn't look up from the road while he gave his ultimatum, but I could feel the intensity coming off him in waves. He was a man on a mission, and I would be glad to help.

_I'm starting to like him._


	14. 14, Brake In, Brake Out

AN: It's Friday and I could get to a computer. So woo. Anyhow, updates might still be kind of shaky but I'll try to keep on track. Also thanks again to everyone who has reviewed.

***Waylon***

Miles had been wrong when he said the station wouldn't be hard to find. It took us twenty minutes of driving in the dark through a town that I could walk in five, but we did eventually find the building. It was made of concrete with a brick facade facing the street, the words 'Brooks County Sheriff's Department' were marked in bold black letters across the front door.

"Something tells me they won't welcome us at the front door, go around back." Miles said to me from the passenger's seat.

I agreed and pulled around the side of the building to the employee parking that also looked like it doubled as a squad car parking lot. While I parked the car miles chattered on about how we would get inside.

"Don't suppose you know how to pick a lock too." he asked me

"If I could do that things would have been much easier for me."

"Ok…" he took a look at the building "how are your climbing skills?"

I thought about my still healing shoulder and ankle "they've been better."

"Think you can make it into that window?" Miles pointed to a little prop up window that was about seven feet off the ground.

"Probably" pulling myself through would be rough, fitting through might even be a challenge. I had no idea how Miles expected to get through that thing, it would be tight for me and he was the bigger of the two of us.

"Great, here's the plan, I boost you through the window, you make your way over to this door" he pointed at a gray painted steel door "open it from the inside, then we make our way to evidence, get the cameras, then get the hell out of dodge before anyone notices. Deal?'

It sounded sort of hair brained to me, but Miles had made it into Mount Massive, so he either knew what he was doing or had a freakish large amount of good luck. I agreed.

We got out of the car, only for Miles to stop.

"One more thing," he rummaged through the cars middle console and pulled out a penny.

"What are you doing?"

He crouched behind a police car "Changing our plates, it might not help us while we're in the boonies where everyone knows everyone, but once we get back into a city it'll make us harder to keep track of." He pulled the plate of the cruiser and started doing the same to the sedan.

Apparently pennies make great flat heads because he had the plates swapped in little to no time. With that done we walked up to the window, Miles netted his hands to gather, giving me a foot hold.

"Up you go"

I stepped into his hands and reached for the window seal. Miles pushed me up most of the way, and it took a bit of skin off my back, but I made it through the hole in the wall. The fall onto the ground hurt and made me grunt, my ankle took the brunt of it. My leg had stitches in it now, and still occasionally wept and swelled. It wasn't as bad as it had been, but taking more than thirty steps started making it nag on me.

After taking a second to take in the pain I looked up. I stood in a hall of cells, there were only four of them and the hall was separate from the rest of the station, but there was a man in one of them. He looked passed out drunk, but I didn't want to risk waking him and letting everyone in the building know I was here.

Creeping past the man I went to the door, there was a window in it so I took the chance to inspect the outside.

The lobby was to the left, I could just barely see a counter corner. There seemed to be a young man at the desk, a receptionist of some sort. He was chatting with a cop. I couldn't see far, but it looked like there was a hall further to the left. To the right was a plain wall and a small hallway with a steel door at the end, that had to be the one that Miles was waiting at.

I slowly nudged the door open. This was just like old times, except no one was insane and it was light enough to see. Moving around the corner as quietly as plausible I slipped the door shut behind me. I could hear the two men in the lobby chatting away, something about a football game.

With no noise I went to the door and let Miles in. Before he had time to make a smart-alec comment I held my finger to my lips, telling him to be quiet. He got the message. We moved down the hall and towards the lobby, the conversation between the two men grew louder

"…any way I was obvious that we'd win"

"I seem to remember hearing you were on the edge of your set the whole time"

"If you heard it from Dan, you should know that he's a damn liar."

There was a good natured laughter "well, it's a quarter to one, I'm due at the hospital."

"Still stuck on guard duty?"

"Yep, more than half the stations there looking after those guys."

"Everyone's been tight lipped about those two, all I hear are rumors. What's the story?"

"They're a couple of class acts, in for bank robbery, assault, capital murder, possible kidnapping. If I didn't know better I'd say they eat babies for breakfast"

"Now you're exaggerating."

"I don't know man, one of 'em. Oh fuck what's his name…Miles. Ya, he's kind of spooky. The machines in his room keep going hay-wire and none of the meds go in his system."

I took a look over my shoulder at Miles, who held his hands up as if to say "don't look at me, I didn't do it"

"There's the rumors I keep hearing" they continued on talking.

"Believe what you want to, but I know what I saw"

"Sure-"

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a radio.

"Calling all units, we have two escaped convicts from East Baptist Hospital. All units please respond" the voice belonged to a lady and sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

The men were quiet for a second, then one spoke up "This is Robins, I'll be on the lookout."

The two said goodbye and I could make out the sound of doors sliding open and shutting. Peeking around the corner I could see the remaining man at the desk. He couldn't be a day over eighteen, probably a kid with a part time job. He was facing the door now. Me and Miles took the chance, walking crouched to a hall that branched from the main room.

Aware that the kid at the counter could turn around any second we moved as quickly as we could. At the end of the hall there was another steel door with a sign that said 'exit' in bright red litters, that would be useful. To my right was a room filled with desks and paper work, on the far end I could see two offices, one labeled as belonging to sheriff Stiles. Just passed that room and its windowed halls was another hall branching to the right, we ducked down that, moving out of sight of the lobby.

There were two doors to the left, one to the right. The first one we came to was labeled as an interview room. It was the second one that was labeled evidence. Miles reached for the handle only to find that it was locked.

Miles muttered under his breath "not this again"

"The keys are probably back at the main desk" I whispered to him.

"…shit" he peeked around the corner at the kid sitting at the desk, "You're right, I can see some keys hanging on a drawer. We're going to have to go get them."

He was right. We crept back down the empty hall. From where we were I could see out the main doors and into the empty parking lot, it looked like we were the only ones in here. It didn't take long for us to get close to the desk. We were less than five feet away from the boy when Miles stood upright.

What was he thinking?

"Hey kid."

The boy at the desk nearly jumped out of his skin. He wildly looked over his shoulder as he swiveled his chair around to face us.

He didn't say a word.

"Ya, hi. Can you hand me the key to for the evidence lockup?" Miles held out his hand like he was asking someone to pass the salt.

I could hear the boys breathing, his heart must have been beating a mile a minute. He might have recognized us from the news.

Miles insisted none the less "I kind of need that key, I'm on a time limit."

The boy groped the cabinet behind him without ever looking away from us. After an agonizing twenty seconds he grabbed a set of keys.

"Thank you very much." Miles grabbed them from his hand then started to back up down the hallway we came from, I followed.

We were half way down the hall before either of us turned around, less than a second after we did I heard the boy move from his chair and the doors whoosh open.

"I'm thinking we only have five minutes before any cops show up, so let's make this quick."

I agreed. He unlocked the door and we stepped into the tiny evidence storage room. Being a pretty quiet county there wasn't much in here, which made our job easier. It took all of three minutes for me to find the suitcase, Miles came up behind me with both cameras in hand.

"That's everything, let's go."

I took a step outside the evidence room, only to be greeted by a woman holding a gun and standing ready to shoot.


	15. 15, Enemies?

AN: Hello once again. Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, thanks again for reading. Also Fridays chapter might be kind-of really gory (Or it might not be, I haven't decided yet (Seriously, I must have written at least half a dozen versions of that chapter and I have no idea which one I should use. It's like reverse writers block.))

Anyways, before I digress even more here's the story:

***Waylon***

I froze, Miles bumped into my back."Hey, what gi- Hi Sheriff Stiles." Miles skidded to a stop when he saw the lady.

"Get on the ground" she didn't shout but she was fierce, and I was tempted to do as she said.

"It's all right, nobody's going to do anything crazy here." Miles tried to talk his way out of it.

"I said get down!" she shook the gun in her hand for emphasis.

"Can you put the gun down? It should be pretty clear that bullets don't do much good buy this point."

"Miles, stop being a smart ass." I had to speak up

"Waylon's right Miles" that wasn't the sheriff.

After the voice had a chance to die away a man stepped around the corner.

It was that man. The man who killed my wife. The man that had to know where my kids were. That man.

"Drayer, what are you doing here?" the sheriff did not sound pleased.

"I followed you. I saw you leaving the hospital. I thought you would know where to find our convicts. I was right."

I needed to kill this bastard.

"Sheriff, I don't think this man is FBI."

"Shut up Miles." Both the sheriff and the man spoke at the same time.

"Drayer, this isn't your case and you have no right to be here, radio for backup."

"No."

"No?" the sheriff had a dangerous edge in her voice "No? You need to do what I say, this is an emergency situation."

"I don't think I will."

"Sheriff, he's obviously not real law enforcement" Miles wouldn't shut up.

"Talk all you want, no one's going to believe you" that man had no inflection as he spoke, he looked almost board; I wanted to punch his stupid face in.

"In fact, I think he works for Murkoff." Miles was still talking

What?

Stiles spoke up "You aren't getting anywhere by grasping at straws Miles. And Drayer, we'll talk later."

If this man worked for Murkoff than that would explain everything.

'agent' Drayer didn't listen to what the sheriff said and instead walked past her and towards us.

"You're in my line of fire, move." He didn't.

"You think you're real clever don't you Upshur?" He was close enough for me to reach out and touch.

Miles took a second to respond. "Where are the kids Drayer?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

To hell with silence "yes you do! You bastard! Where are my sons!" I jumped at him. I don't care if it was a stupid idea, he needed to pay.

I heard someone yelling, I think it was sheriff Stiles. There was a weight on me, under me was Drayer. I punched at him. I wasn't a fighter, but the blows had to be doing something. My hand made a solid landing on the bridge of his nose. There was a crunch and warm blood gushed, something popped in my hand as well. Before I got a second good shot in something pulled me up.

"Time to go" it was Miles.

We ran down the hall with him half way dragging me. Seconds before we turned to corner to run for the door a shot rang out. In the small hallway the sound of a single gunshot was deafening. I stayed standing, Miles went down. In the distance I could see Drayer holding a handgun.

Before I had a chance to get myself out of the line of fire Miles was already standing and facing away from me. There was a clear exit wound on his right leg, but it did not bleed. He took a step towards Drayer and the sheriff, both of whom lied crumpled on the ground.

The man took another shot at Miles, this time hitting his arm. Miles lurched to the side from the force of the blow. For a second he stopped, then faster than I thought was plausible he was on Drayer. He scooped the man from the ground and hoisted him into the air, holding him under the arms with all the ease of someone picking up a kitten.

Miles may have been bigger than me but there was no way he was that strong. He slammed Drayer into the wall. A sickly crunch rang out as his head made contact with the concrete. I didn't feel sorry for him.

"Put him down Upshur!" the sheriff was still trying to be a cop about this.

"We need to get out of here!" that was me yelling at her. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I ran towards the three of them.

"Let go of me" it was a command that I ignored.

Grabbing her I pulled away from Miles, who was having a great time treating Drayer like a rag doll. She slid over the tiled floor easily enough, I was back to where I had been before when she ripped free from my hands and stood on her own. She took a running step back to them but I grabbed her hand before she got far.

"You don't want to go there trust me." I hoped she heard the panicked edge to my voice.

Before she had the chance to let loose a harsh reply there was a snapping noise, like a twig breaking in a thunderstorm. Looking up I saw that Drayer's left arm bent in three places instead of just the one. The man slumped to the ground, looking like nothing more than a bloody pulp. His face was encrusted with red, the posh suit he wore came apart at the seams, limbs twisted like tree roots but he was still breathing, still muttering something below my level of hearing.

"Hey!" the sheriff spoke up.

What was she doing! Was she trying to get herself killed?

Miles looked up. I had my suspicions, but seeing his face made it clear that he wasn't the one in control right now.

"Run!" panic. My voice was sheer panic. I pulled at the sheriffs hand, somehow pulling her off balance. It must have been the adrenalin, but I made it out the door and kept running after.

"Stop." That was her absolute tone, but panic and instinct won out. I kept running, clutching her arm in my hand.

Only after we made it past the wood line and behind a gathering of bushes did I stop. I could hear my breathing and I was sure everyone in a mile radius could hear my heart beating. The sheriff made like a cop and pulled out a pair of cuffs.

"Hey, I-"

She cuffed my right hand to a low hanging tree branch.

"Stay here, no funny business."

"Wait! If you go in there you will die." It was a fact. With the Walrider set free in there anyone became fair game, Murkoff or not.

"You're in no position to be making threats"

"I'm not, I swear. Just- I can't explain it, look over this tape." I had grabbed one of the cameras on the way out.

She was about to object and turn away when a buzzing screech erupted from the station.

"What in the hell…?"

I took her moment of confusion as an opening "I can tell you what that was, but I'll sound insane, the proof is on the camera." I hoped she bought it, I didn't want to spend the night handcuffed to a tree.

"I don't listen to stories."

Another howl pierced the air.

"But this one's true"

She hesitated, maybe fighting the urge to run into the building or to run away from it, until finally she said:

"You get one chance, make it count."

I did. I told her everything about the company, how I had worked for them, what they'd been doing. I showed her footage from the camera, which was Miles's. The first piece of damning evidence was about five minutes into the video, with some sort of private security impaled in a library. He had filmed all the documents he found too, which backed up my story.

"…I'll be damned," the sheriff took a breath "but this still doesn't mean that you two were framed, Miles did just attack an FBI agent."

"That's not all" I was getting to the really crazy part of the story, "there was also something that came out of the experiments, something that Murkoff would kill to keep secret, and it also kind of explains Miles's behavior"

"Right." She had that flat commanding tone again "I can believe that there would be a cover up for something like that. But I'm not buying the idea that there's some sort of crazy ghost experiments that actually worked."

If only I'd had my camera I could show her the end footage, but Miles had to have something on his camera too, right? I mean the Walrider couldn't have just popped up and jumped into him with no build up.

"But it did," I set about fast forwarding through the video until something damning appeared.

"I'm starting to think that that place cracked you two wide open."

I didn't reply, I had gone through most of the tape and found only short sightings and glimpses. There were maybe twenty minutes of video left when something happened.

Miles was down in the lab, about to walk through a pair of doors and into the outside, when they shut and the Walrider appeared to chase him back down the hall. He ran, hurtled pallets of barrels, burst through some doors, got jumped by a large man, and was flung against a wall. That's when the proof I was looking for happened.

"Sheriff, take a look at this" I tiled the cracked screen towards her.

She begrudgingly gazed down at the screen.

The large man came towards Miles, muttering that there was "no escape now". When all seemed lost a low screech bubbled up, the man was flung to the side and into a wall, letting out a scream like a dying pig as he did. The inferred switched on, revealing the shadowed body of the Walrider clinging to the man. They grappled, the night vision flicked on and off, Miles's heavy breathing eclipsed most of the sound. Finally, in full view of the camera, the man was hoisted off the ground, bent back like a bowstring, ready to snap. The Walrider crushed his body into a vent, his flesh ground into a past as it went flying into a fan. The night vision went off, I flipped the camera shut. I had shown her my proof.

"The experiment worked." I told her.

She narrowed her eyes, as if taking it all in.

"You saw the lobby of the place, read a couple of the files, you don't think that they would think twice about silencing the two people who had proof?"

There were wheels turning, I could see it.

"They're not good people, they're barely people at all. Framing me and Miles is just a clean way of shutting us up, I'm sure they'd be just as happy with us dead."

"Wait a second." She held up a hand "How does that explain Miles's behavior."

"What"

"You said that proving that the experiment worked would explain why Miles attacked an FBI agent." I gasped for something to say "Actually, I think it would be near implausible for him to have done that, especially after getting shot. Twice."

Uh-oh.

"Um… ok, this is going to be hard to swallow."

"Then you'd better spit it out."

"Would you believe possession?"

She glared at me and then at the station. "You're saying that the experiment from that video, is possessing Miles."

"Partially, I think. Ok, I'm pretty sure. Yes it is. But he's fine most of the time."

She was taking a long time to think this through, "this looks like it's a little bit outside my jurisdiction... But that doesn't change the fact that people are dead" she eyed me dangerously.

Bolts of searing emotion hit me, loss and regret for Lisa, fear and anger for my boys "I know people have died, but more will if we let Murkoff continue on."

"I can't let you go hurting innocent people."

"We won't, none of Murkoff is innocent."

See sighed "maybe. But I'm going to have to stop you"

I didn't like the sound of that "you can try."

It was strange. In that moment it was clear that I had made an enemy, but she understood what I was doing, she knew why. I supposed I knew why she decided we had to be stopped. She was a cop, through and through, and she might even agree with the ends but not the means. It looked like I'd have to find my boys and take down Murkoff without the help of the law.

Oh well.

It was only in the quiet that either of us realized that the screeching and buzzing from the station stopped. I looked to the door we had run out of, sheriff Stiles followed my gaze. There stood Miles. Miles with blood splattered over his hospital gown, Miles with a bullet hole in his arm and a second in his leg.

"Hey guys!" it was him yelling "I can see you, come out. The coast is clear!"

It looked like he was back in command.

"I'm sort of stuck!" I yelled back. The sheriff took a wild look at me, stood up, gun in hand, and yelled at the top of her lungs:

"Freeze!"

Oh god, not this again.

"Woah, slow down there cow girl" Miles had taken a few steps closer.

"Uh, Miles. This really isn't the time for witty banter"

"I can see that." He replied to me

"Down on the ground!" the sheriff stood stock still.

Miles gave a sigh "I've said it once and I'll say it again: it seems pretty obvious by this point that guns aren't doing any good, can you put that thing away?"

She didn't move a muscle to reply.

"Hey Miles, I kind of told her everything. Showed her some video too."

"I take it she doesn't want to help?"

"No, not really"

"Well this is awkward."

"I said get on the ground!"

"Ok sheriff. Let's think this through. I've been shot a couple dozen times, a few times more isn't going to do much." He didn't take a step despite what he was saying.

The sheriff noticed that too "If that's true, then why are you hesitating so much?"

"Because getting shot hurts." He told her matter of factly "That, and I have nanobot monster in my ear that really wants to kill something. I'd rather not do that."

Sirens were starting to wail in the distance, more officers were on the way.

"Hear that sheriff? That's more men who don't know what their walking into."

I was afraid to breath at this point, worried that I might cause the tension to snap and kill someone.

"Let's say they go inside, run out the back here, see this little standoff. With more people around here, yelling at me, causing a ruckus, I'm not sure I'll be able to ignore the voice in my head,"

The cars were getting closer, I could hear them.

"Your call sheriff, we can all walk away, or this can get messy."

Oh god, I couldn't watch.

But I had to.

The sheriff didn't falter. She didn't so much as blink, there was no telling what was going on in that head of hers. After an instant eternity she straitened up, stared, and pointed the gun down.

"These men have families, there doesn't need to be any senseless death here."

"Thank you" Miles took a step towards me "Let's go Waylon"

"I'm chained to a tree" the words came out a bit more shaky than I intended.

"Oh, um... give me a second." He took a tottering step past the sheriff and towards me. Looking at the cuffs he considered them for a second before simply reaching for the tree branch and snapping it.

The end of the cuff not attached to my hands slid off without a hitch. With the sheriff still watching us, with the sirens now blaring from the front parking lot, with fears of the future and hopes of revenge surging through my head, I followed Miles to the car and drove off into the night.

***Miles***

_What the hell were you thinking?_

**That's sort of harsh, don't you think? It's not like I stopped you from getting me pumped full of lead. Again.**

_We would have survived._

**That's not the point, you can't go on a cop killing spree using my body.**

I was asleep again, or at least I think so. There was a good chance I was sort of awake looking, but just zoned out. Either way my conversation with my dear pal and friend the Walrider took up most of my attention.

_No one can stop us, we're practically invulnerable. _

**Enough of that 'we' crap. Besides, you're invincible, I am not. You should know that whoever you're stuck to isn't immortal, I seem to remember killing Billy, who was already on massive amounts of life support.**

_You're so picky, we would have been fine._

**No, I would have gotten my ass handed to me.**

_You say that, but you were more than glad to face the Murkoff dog._

**He shot me, it was self-defense.**

_Either way I barely had to do anything. It was all your idea._

**Says the one who keeps possessing me and playing merry hell with other people spines. Besides I don't need a lesson in morality from a murderous ghost. Actually, I didn't need to be talking to you at all.**

_Don't be so crass, you know we have more to say._

**Leave me alone.**

_You just don't want to admit that you agree with me._

**You're really starting to piss me off.**

_You want to crush the breath from every Murkoff employee just as badly as I do._

**Go away.**

_Admit it Miles, we're exactly the same._

**Shut up.**

There was a long pause in the Walrider's talking, for a moment I thought that it had stopped talking, then:

…_you didn't deny any of that._

Then it was gone, buried deep in the back of my brain. For a moment I seethed at what the Walrider had said to me. I was a person damn it, not some murder machine. How dare it act like I was anything like it.

And yet.

And yet I did want to burn Murkoff to the ground. I wanted to crush the corporation into dust that would scatter to the far winds. I wanted the heads of everyone involved with Mount Massive on a silver platter. I wanted to break the bastards and leave them wondering in the dark just like I had been.

I took a breath in and tried my best to leave thoughts of revenge away from the rest of my mind. I would look around, ya that would distract me.

I sat shot gun in the 'borrowed' car. Waylon was driving, looking twitchy as usual. I stole a glance downward, only to see that I was in a blood speckled hospital gown. I had to stop waking up covered in blood and sitting in strange places.

"Waylon."

He jumped in surprise, but managed not to jerk the steering wheel like last time.

"Oh, you're up." His words were shaky, but suspiciously lacking in emotion.

_He's judging you_

**Not now.**

"Yep, wide awake." I righted myself in my seat "where are we going?"

"Don't know"

"Ok, which way are we going?"

"West."

The short answers grated at my nerves a bit more than they should have. Either way I took the time to think if I knew anyone who owed me a big favor out west.

There was Tim, in Utah, he owed me more than he could ever repay but he had a family, so he was out. Maybe I could hit up Kelso, he owed me for rooting out that smuggling ring. Ok, maybe that wasn't a great idea, I didn't want to get shot again. There was always Chelsey, but that would get real complicated real fast. If I could find them I could ask-

"What happened?" Waylon derailed my train of thought.

"What?"

"You know what I mean, at the station." His voice was worrisomely flat.

"Um, I don't want to talk about it?"

He stayed staring straight ahead "Really?"

"Yes really"

A silence thick enough to suffocate a man settled in the car. We drove maybe five miles before Waylon spoke up.

"Thank you"

"For what?"

"For killing him." Flat voice again.

Caught off guard, I sputtered "…say what?"

"Thank you for killing him."

How does one react to that?

"You're welcome? I think."

Out of all the things that have happened in the last night, this might have been the most disturbing of them, until:

"He killed my wife"

"Oh. Good riddance to the bastard then"

_See, even the weakling thought that it was a good idea._

I bit my tongue down, talking back to the swarm was exactly what it wanted.

With little else to do I talked on "first off we need a game plan, we can't be running around with our heads up our asses."

"You're right" he sounded like he was getting some inflection back in his voice "finding Connor and Garret is goal one."

"Ok, fair enough, goal two is destroying Murkoff."

"Agreed"

"Step one, I think, should be information gathering"

"Ok"

"I know from earlier that their corporate offices are in Salt Lake City, Utah, that should be our next stop"

"Sounds good."

For a second there I had been on a roll with all the official revenge planning. With the authoritative tone, I sounded like you average mastermind, then Waylon went on talking.

"Hey Miles?"

"Ya?"

"Shouldn't step one be getting some different cloths?"

We were still in hospital gowns.

"Ok, step one: get some normal clothes"


	16. 16, Like a Thief in The Night

AN: Happy New Years Eve everyone. Once again thank you to everyone who's left a comment thus far. Also I still have no idea if next chapter will be gory (or if it is how gory) so... make of that what you will. Anyways, please enjoy this chapter in the mean time.

***Miles***

We were still in the mountains and at any other time of the year this would have meant there would have been plenty of camps to raid for cloths, but it was late fall and everyone had packed it in. That left us to drive down the small road until we hit a small town.

"So, tell me again what we're doing." Waylon pulled the little car behind a shop and off of the main street.

"The plan is that I go in, grab a couple of outfits, get back into the car, and then we leave like nothing ever happened."

"So I'm just sitting here, no getting shoved through a window this time?"

"Nope, you just stay right here and honk if you see anyone going into the store"

I was halfway out the door by the time Waylon finished saying "got it"

The street outside was dark, but the alley was like a black hole. I'd been in some dark places and this was in the top ten. Once I actually reached the door I found it locked. Guess this small town manager had some sense. Luckily the door was made of glass, one quick elbow near the handle was enough to shatter a hand sized hole. Reaching through the breach I unlocked the door from the inside.

The store was clearly a mom and pop place, from the outside it had looked like there was an apartment for the owners upstairs. I almost felt bad for "borrowing" some of the things, but none the less I walked through the racks of clothing looking for something that looked like it would fit. I was halfway to a sales rack when a squeak and thud rang out.

It sounded like someone took a quick step in the store.

_I can take a look._

**Hell no, I'm not letting you run around in a clothing store.**

Fighting down old instincts to run and hide I walked through the dim aisles. I had survived Mount Massive and had a supernaturally powerful entity living in my body, there was no reason for me to be scared of a hat rack.

I stopped at a wall display of jeans. I grabbed a couple in my size. I had no idea what size Waylon wore so I just got some a size smaller, hoping that they would work. Walking back to a clothing rack I heard another noise.

_Are you sure you don't want me to look around._

**I said you're staying put.**

It was probably just the building creaking, it wasn't new by any measure. Either way I took a look around. The area was empty and bathed in a dim gray glow from a street lamp outside. Not a thing was out of place except for the door I broke on my way in.

Content with the area I rummaged through the shirts, grabbed one, took a second longer then grabbed a few more. I was just about to make my way out when a third thump came from directly behind me. Before I had time to look behind me something cold and hard came to rest between my shoulder blades.

Shit.

"Drop the clothes"

I did, they hit the ground with a soft ruffle.

"Turn around real slow"

I did that too.

In front of me stood a teenager with a shotgun. This was going swimmingly.

"Hey kid, why don't you put that down, you'll put an eye out"

"You stay quite!"

The kid had some balls. In the dark I couldn't make out many details, but I'm pretty sure he had freckles, and I know that his hair was ketchup red. Seemed about Waylon's height but kind of thick.

For a while I just stood there, he was staring at me with the gun level the whole time.

"So, you going to call the police at some point?" I really didn't need this to drag out, it's been a bad night already.

He seemed caught off guard by the question "Wha-uh, don't tell me what to do!"

"Nice tough act kid, but I've got things to do, and I've already been shot a couple times today, things just haven't been good." I started picking up the clothes from the ground, this kid wasn't going to do anything.

"I said don't move!" he jiggled the shotgun like it was a threat.

"It's clear you're not going to shoot me. And you aren't going to just leave me here to call someone." I didn't look up from the floor "I'm pretty sure it's just you here, isn't it?"

"How did you- I mean no! my dad's up stairs and he's got a fifty cal. hunting rifle, you step out that door and your brains'll be on the pavement."

I stood back up "Mhhmm, and your dad's being a sniper instead of coming down here himself why?"

The kid sputtered for a moment before realizing that he didn't have a reply.

"That's what I thought. Now I'll just get out of your hair, then you can tell whoever you want that the big bad bogeyman broke into you families shop, ok?"

"Out of the shop." Damn the kid had some resolve, he was probably pretty lucky that I had broken into here and not someone who was looking for a fight.

"That's what I thought." I made to leave with the cloths in hand.

The shot gun coked behind me, "Leave the merchandise behind."

I didn't turn around, I barely stopped walking "let's face it, You're not going to shot me over denim and flannel."

_We could take him out so easily_

**I know, but no.**

I walked on. Nothing happened, and for a moment I was relieved. Then a car started honking franticly.

The boy clutched back at the shot gun, obviously startled. A few things went through my mind, first panic, then realization. Waylon had seen someone and was trying to warn me.

"Son of a bitch."

I wasn't halfway to the door when someone appeared there. The teen behind me yelped and let off a panic shot. The shotgun murdered the rest of the glass in the door frame, narrowly missing the man who I only just realized was Waylon.

"Hide" was all he said coming through the door.

"Get the hell out of this store!" the kid was yelling now, somehow he still had all the bravado from before.

"Kid, that gun's out of ammo, do yourself a favor and scram"

Before the teen shot some comment back at me lights burst to life from the street outside.

"Shit"

There was a black SUV parked on the street facing the glass front, moving without thinking I crouched behind a rack of clothes

"Waylon!" I whisper yelled.

"They circled around back too" he turned out to be right next to me

"Who is it?"

"it's that lady who was with Drayer, I think her names-"

"Figueroa, ya I remember her."

_The other Murkoff worker is here? Two in one night could be fun._

**You're not doing anything.**

There shop was slowly filling with more light, some flashing some steady, all in tones of red, blue, and bright white. This was going to shit much too fast for my liking. How had she even found us so quickly?

Before I had time to mull much of anything over a voice came over a megaphone from outside.

"Miles Upshur and Waylon Park, we know you're in there, come out now or I will send in armed officers to get you."

It was definitely Figueroa, she sounded just as hostile and belligerent as she had back in the hospital.

"You said there were men out back, how many?" I asked Waylon.

"Two I think"

We might be able to get past that few people, or I might be able to scare them away.

_We could take two men in a fight with no problem_

**Again, no cop killing in my body.**

"Wait a second…" that was the kid; he was standing, still holding the empty shotgun "Upshur and Park… you two are bank robbers!"

Great, we're stuck with Skippy the boy genius.

Waylon spoke up, I guess to calm the kid down "neither of us are dangerous, I swear. This is just one huge misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding? You broke into my families store in the middle of the night, there are cops outside and he's covered in blood!" the ginger backed away slowly from the two of us. I'm not sure where he thought he was going, I was between the door and him.

It's times like this in my life that I make stupid decisions. Muttering a quick apology under my breath I stood up and grabbed the kid, quickly spinning him around so the we were both facing the street front windows. While looking straight out the windows it dawned on me just how many police there were out there. It dawned on my just how screwed we really were.


	17. 17, Negotiations

AN: Hello everybody, just FYI school starts back up for me next week so these chapters are going to go back to being updated at ~7am instead of at midnight like they have been, thought that y'all would want to know about a seven hour change in the scheduled. Anyhow, I fought with this chapter for over a week; I hope everyone enjoys it.

***Miles***

"Miles what the hell are you doing?" I hardly heard Waylon over the sound of the kid yelling obscenities at me.

"I have a bad idea" I told him, "hey!" I yelled at the kid "here's the deal, you just listen to everything I say and we can all get out of this"

_We could get out of this very simply, just carve a path._

To my surprise the kid actually shut up, less to my surprise and more to my horror my eyes adjusted to the bright lights to reveal a steadily growing crowd of law enforcement.

"Waylon follow me" I started edging to the side of the building, dragging the kid with us.

He followed but kept talking to me "what are we doing?" he sounded breathless as if he were trying to keep a panic down. Luckily I wasn't too worried about him doing anything crazy, not while we were here at least.

"First we're getting out sight, I don't want them to be able to see us."

The bull horn sounded from outside again, this time it was a man speaking "Please don't escalate this son, we can talk it out. There'll be a call to you in two minutes, we can chat then." He sounded like anyone's elderly grandfather, not angry like Figueroa. He might be able to be reasoned with.

_That's exactly what they would want us to think._

Ignoring that I asked "Kid, where's the nearest phone in here?"

He didn't answer me

_Such defiance shouldn't be left unpunished_

Crushing down my annoyance at the Walrider and a rush of anger that seemingly came from nowhere_._ I took a second to say "Just tell me where the phone is" as calmly as plausible.

For a moment the boy said nothing. The Walrider kept whispering in my ear, the thing was itching for a fight

_It would be fun, think of how surprised they would be. We could carve through them then continue through the entire town. We could do whatever we please, turning anyone who stepped in our path to rain and then ending in a mound of Murkoff corpses._

**I'm not doing this right now. I'm not keeping track of two conversations at a time, and I'm not fighting off half of my brain from doing something the rest of me would regret.**

_Good to know I get half of the brain._

I was pissed off at the thing, but didn't talk back.

"In the break room"

"Thank you"

Apparently Waylon and the kid had been talking while I was distracted. We were behind the checkout counter now, it took a bit more force than I would have liked to move the kid back to the break room, and I nearly felt bad for shoving him, but something was stopping me.

The actual staff room was just behind the counter, separated only by thin dry wall and a plain door. Waylon shut it behind us, I let the kid go; he immediately walked to the corner farthest from me. There was a well worn leather couch accompanied by an end table that held a corded phone and a water cooler. The floor was hard wood, same as the store outside and the wall stood a pale peach that wasn't broken by any windows. Maybe thirty seconds after we walked in the phone rang.

Waylon picked it up.

"Hello?"

I couldn't make out what was being said on the other end of the line

Waylon gave a heavy sigh "I don't think you would understand."

"Put it on speaker" I told him.

He eyed me a bit, but clicked on the speaker. "…to think about"

As if nothing had changed Waylon continued talking. It was standard hostage procedure, with the man trying to talk us down from whatever it was he thought we were up to while Waylon tried to assure him that nothing was going wrong. I knew that there were probably moving people in and out of the building, a couple of times I could hear people talking in the background as well. Everyone once and a while Figueroa would get a word in, whenever she did it was thinly veiled in professionalism but still overly hostile.

_The only way out of this is through blood shed_

**I don't want to get into it right now.**

"Hey kid, what's your name?" I had to try to distract myself.

The ginger looked at me like he was thinking of running or punching me, could have been either one.

"Jacob."

"Ok Jacob, is there any other way out of the store?"

"ya, it's up your ass"

Some people, I swear.

"…right. Look kid, I don't want to be here right now, and I can guarantee you that Waylon doesn't either."

_There's no reason to ask the boy when we could carve our way out so easily._

The boy didn't reply to my final words. It didn't take me long to start wondering what was going on out there. Waylon was preoccupied with the phone, saying something about his family that made me more angry than I expected it too. I was reminded of how inhuman people could be, how easy it was to slaughter monster calling themselves people, and how much they deserved it.

_See, you know you want to repay Murkoff for all they've done_

I did, but I wasn't hitting unwitting police in the process.

The phone conversation droned on "I'm sorry son, but you have to come out. There are lives at stake"

_His life he means, everyone out there is waiting, wishing that you would do something that would let them cut loose. Why don't we make the first move?_

**It doesn't work like that, they can't just open fire.**

_Odd, I seem to remember having men open fire on us_

**That was different, they were scared and confused, besides, you made me move when I should have sat still.**

_And you don't think the people out there are scared? I know fear and they are terrified. It's best to attack while they're too tense to react._

**No.**

I had to grit my teeth to keep myself from saying anything out loud back to the Walrider. I couldn't help but notice that it was partially right, we weren't getting out of here unless something drastic happened, but I still knew right from wrong. I knew I had the option of cutting a swath through the men outside, but I also knew that it was an option I could not take.

Hoping to clear my head of the Walrider I went to the closed door that lead to the store. Cracking the door open no more than an inch I took a peek outside. The street outside was abuzz with lights. I could see a man in his late fifties with a phone. He must have been the negotiator. Next to him stood her.

Agent fucking Figueroa. She was so smug, so ready to throw anyone she could under the bus to save herself. I wonder how many other people out there are on Murkoffs payroll. None of them were really innocent, all of them were greedy bastards. Lying, soulless, idiotic bastards! They were better as bloody fertilizer in the ground than as people…

…and that wasn't me talking.

_But you know you're thinking the same_

**Shut up.**

_You don't deny it_

**Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup**

There were less words in my mind then there was just static and emotion

"Hey Miles-"

"_What!"_

Damn it

"What?"

I slammed the door shut when I turned to face Waylon. He looked worn and newly terrified, probably a result of the situation and my snapping at him. Well, the Walrider's snapping at him.

He didn't say anything but instead pointed to the phone. When I approached it he hurried past me and took up my old position near the door.

"Hello?" it was the man over the phone

"I'm here"

"Miles I presume. Ok son, I can't seem to get through to your friend Waylon. Maybe you can help"

_He will try to trick us, don't listen to him_

**I know what I'm doing calm down**

"I would like very much… end without violence, the only one… you… about Jacob's parents. They're very worried about him…

_We don't want this to end without violence_

"…a family man"

I hadn't heard any of the last part, static and the voice were filling my head

"Can you…Miles?...answer me"

More white noise. Every limb of my body was becoming numb again.

"Are you still there?"

_Just kill them. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them._

"…Yes"

He said something, I have no idea what.

_We can do this._

I felt something cold uncoiling deep inside my brain. Something that definitely wasn't me thinking but wasn't wholly the Walrider's doing either.

"Hello? Hello are you there?"

I couldn't speak, couldn't move without doing something I'd regret.

There was a jostle on the other end of the line, like the phone was being moved, I thought there were voices, but I was focusing too much on not giving in that I didn't make them out.

_It'll be fun. We can do as we please. After the dust settles we can even track down all of the contacts in Figueroa's phone. We would like that, chasing down leads. That's something you've always liked, exposing truths that people try so hard to keep secret, I only want to take it a step further._

The lights were flickering in the little break room. I was losing it, but I had to hold on. There had to be something I could do, anything!

"Miles Upshur! This is agent Figueroa, I'm sure you remember me. This is not a negotiation-"

_Figueroa._

The dam broke. That cold coil in my mind snapped forward like the firing pin of a gun. The lights in the room popped and rained down glowing filament into the blackened room

"_I will kill you!"_

Over the line I thought I heard someone exclaiming about a third voice over the phone. I'll never know though because I turned to the door. In the gloom Waylon and Jason were outlined against the door. They moved. Waylon swung the door wide, grabbed Jacobs arm and ran. Ran like a man in fear of his life, ran in a way that only made me want to chase him.

I stepped into the store. The lights didn't register on me; they were insignificant, inconsequential, without meaning. The only thing we saw was the Murkoff bitch looking into the store and at me. That was a challenge, she knew I was coming out. We only hoped she feared what might happen to her.

We walked to the door. The front door made of clear glass. I was so much closer, we could do this.

The glass fell from my path, I needed not to touch the doors. There were men and women yelling out here.

"Freeze." "Get on the ground." "Hands up." They all blended together. We kept walking.

Only twenty feet away now. They all had weapons raised. Fools, those do nothing now. Ten feet away. Yelling. Static in my ears. I can see the whites of their eyes, all of them filled with fear.

We don't stop. Gun fire, there is a wound in my side. No pain, there is no pain. There is black smoke. It's not smoke, it listens to what I say, like another hand. A dozen other hands all moving to stop the people from shooting me. Four rounds hit me. I am three feet away. She fires at me, empties the magazine. The gun goes click, not boom. Static. There is only static in my ears when I reach out our hand.

I slam her to the side. She dents the car door she hit on her way down. That was too clean.

We pick her up again, by the arms. The only thing I can see is her and my black swarm. I think she's talking. We don't care and instead let the smoke do its work.

It pierces her skin and burrows deep into the muscle. I cannot see it, but I know that it is wrapping around her bones. All I have to do is hold her still and watch. Slowly her flesh expands, ripping away from the bone but staying intact. She is like a balloon. A screaming bloody balloon that deserves to be popped. The muscles on her arms are slitting themselves open from the inside. It rips like a sausage in the microwave, unable to handle the strain. Layers of tissue are curling to the air, thick blood beads up and rolls down the slivers of flesh.

The slow approach gets boring. Her right leg disintegrates and scatters in the air, drawing a new scream that I cannot hear. An arm goes next. We could just drop her and let blood loss do the rest. Instead I move one hand to her throat. People are much lighter once they're missing a couple limbs. I release my other hand, now she is held only by the neck. I'm sure she's not yelling anymore. I think she might already be dead.

Pools of tissue and fluids soak the ground and my bear feet, but I don't mind. I tighten my hand around her trachea, we want to end it with my hands, with simple force.

Tighter. Tighter. Her eyes are bulging from her skull. Tighter.

There is a gunshot. I complete my grip on Figueroa's throat, turns to past under my fingers. With her limp body still in my hands I turn to my right, where the bullet hit me.

In the gloom, on the edge of vision stands the man from the phone. Closer up he seems to be older than fifty, probably closer to sixty. He is holding a handgun. Nothing for me to worry about.

"Put her down" he knows she is dead, he is still calm.

For pure defiance we do not drop the body, but we do draw the swarm closer around us. The street is revealed. It is covered in paste, in smears, in globs that used to be people. The gray haze is now a black cloud that engulfs our body.

The old man looks around. His eyes never move from us, but we know that he sees the destruction.

"What in all hell…?" he keeps his gun level

"_Murkoff did this"_ we would let someone know what happened. We would leave a witness, someone to proclaim the gospel.

"Murkoff, what- Hey! Don't move!"

We had leaned down to the body. Riffling through the pockets it didn't take us long to find a cell phone. A list of leads, a list of targets.

While I crouched he readied to fire "_Go ahead, it does nothing" _the black swarm shifted and flickered to our words, only to emphasize the message

He stood still, in a shooters pose. He must have some military training other than police work. No matter. I had what I came for. All threats were dead, it was time to move on.

We turned our back. We walked away.

There was no more gun fire.

***Waylon***

The lights were out and Miles wasn't the one doing the talking. I grabbed Jacobs arm and ran like a startled animal out of the break room.

"Hey! Let go!"

I didn't say anything back, I was saving his life right now, whether he liked it or not. As fast as we were moving, I was still convinced that Miles could move faster. We were at the blown out back door when I stole a glance behind me and saw Miles's figure facing the glowing street.

This was going to end badly, so horribly, absolutely terribly.

I rocketed out into the back alley. Only to meet with the two officers that had been out there before.

"Hey! Stop!" they had their guns raised and ready. Skidding to a halt I let go of Jacobs arm, only to have him run towards the men.

I almost had time to tell them to run for their lives before gunfire broke out from the front of the store. While they were distracted I kept running. Standing still here was more of a death sentence than any gun. Going to my left to the parked car I narrowly avoided a bullet. Missing me it shattered the passenger side window. My skidding across the hood of the car looked less like the dukes of hazzard and more like a scared cat.

Landing on the ground I didn't have time to wretch the drivers door open before someone landed on top of me. The weight of another man bore down on me, the two were yelling and I could feel cold metal clasp around my left wrist. Before the other cuff was secured a screeching howl silenced the sound of gun fire. The commotion on top of me slowed to a stop.

One of the officers asked "What the hell?"

I couldn't see what was going on, a tire filled my field of vision. I squirmed under the officers. I moved frantically, they didn't know was was going on. We were doomed! We had to run, we had to hide. Couldn't they tell when they were in danger?

For all my fighting they didn't move until it was too late. A scream erupted from my left. Something warm and wet hit my face, twisting my head I found one of the young men clawing at a gray cloud. The man on top of me jumped to help his friend. They were doomed, no need to worry about them now.

I clambered into the unlocked car. A tweak of two connecting wires made the engine roar to life. Only in the sealed compartment did I take the time to realize that a thick gray haze had settled around the store and drifted into the alleyway. In the mist I could only just make out the outline of the dying men. They were locked in a grizzly dance, swatting at what had to be particles of the Walrider. They seemed to melt where they stood, with occasional dustings of blood and viscera whipping at the windshield.

In time they collapsed beneath the view of my headlights, leaving nothing but dark fog. I might have been sick, I couldn't tell. While I sat shaking in the in the drivers seat I couldn't help but notice that the diluted swarm began to drift back through the building as if carried by a current.

Steadying my hands on the steering wheel I moved the car out onto the street. I prepared for the worst. Expecting that I would have to peel out, that I would be on my own from this point on.

It was strange how uplifting and depressing that thought was at the same time. I would be free of the walrider and everything that it represented. But I would also be losing Miles. We weren't too close, not personally at least. But I knew that he would be useful, that he already had mounds of information about Murkoff from months of research. That and he knew what I had been through. Knowing that he had survived the same hell as I had in that asylum meant that there was a link between us, even if I wouldn't exactly call him 'friend'.

I pulled up to the main street. The gray fog was gone completely, looking to my left I saw the desecrated street front. Organs painted the pavement, squad cars had red added to their ensemble of black and white. The there were only two figures in the road that even resembled human beings any more. One had to be Miles, he stood cloaked in the swarm like the first time I'd seen him. Only this time it was much more controlled, less like a swarming hurricane and more like a contained fire. I didn't like it either way.

The other figure was an older man. He was unremarkable, not too tall, a little overweight, but still alive. He was alive in a field of death, I didn't question how or why, I was just thankful that at least one person would be allowed to walk out of this.

Miles began to move in a steady gate. The old man kept a gun level on him the entire time, I got the feeling that Miles didn't care. I almost forgot that I was trying to leave this place without him. As he approached the car I made a last second decision and unlocked the doors.

It was stupid. It was outrageously dangerous. It was necessary.

Miles wasn't going to kill me outright and I needed his help.

In a painful moment of Deja vu there was a tiny click at the passenger door. The buzzing was more contained this time, the black swarm slipped out of sight as Miles sat down in the chair. He even buckled his seat belt this time. With a sigh I switched the car into drive.

When did this become the new normal?

Pulling onto the road there was a rustle from my right then a clunk in the middle console. Glancing down I saw that an android cell phone was now resting in the cup holder. I didn't question it. Instead I simply drove on. I knew our destination: Salt Lake City, Utah. Home of Murkoff Corporate headquarters. I only imagined what kind of danger we could get into there. I could only imagine being reunited with my boys.

It seemed like our path of revenge had only just begun.


	18. 18, A Little Peace of Mind

AN: Hello everybody; it's Monday once again (Nooooo) but that means another week of chapters (so yay). Once again thanks to everyone who's reviewed, and please enjoy the chapter.

***Waylon***

We were officially out of Colorado before I pulled the car over. The sun was coming up and I hadn't slept since the night before last in the hospital. I still had cuffs on my wrists and Miles was drenched in blood. The both of us still wore hospital gowns, there was no way we were getting a motel room, so I settled for a nap in the drivers seat.

Neither one of us had said a word. I wasn't sure Miles was capable of speaking anymore. I wasn't even sure Miles was still alive. I reclined the chair just a bit. I had to rest.

But sleep wouldn't come. I'd been dreaming everytime I shut my eyes, never were they pleasant. I don't know how many times I'd died on Gluskins table or been hacked to pieces by Munera. The number of time's I'd seen my family dead or dying had been lost on me as well. I sat in the car seat.

Sleep wouldn't come to me, my mind was too busy, to frantic. I had to find my boys and destroy Murkoff. That was all I had to do. Find Garret. Find Connor. That was all.

That was all.

"Where are we?"

I didn't quite get the chance to jump when I heard Miles speak this time. I was to tired, all my senses were too dulled.

"Somewhere in eastern Utah" I didn't have the energy to ask him what happened last night. At this point I didn't care as much as I should.

"Have you looked into any numbers on the phone?"

I hadn't touched it, though the thought of the thing had been nagging me. "no"

He picked up the black device and clicked the screen on.

"Locked."

"Let me see it."

He handed me the cell, if I had any luck in the world the agent hadn't had the mind to clean off her screen every time she got done using it. Tilting the phone back so that there would be glare I could make out thin finger marks. One looked continuous, flicking the screen back on I traced the pattern on the unlock screen.

The home screen popped up, I handed the phone back to Miles.

He fiddled around until he reached what I assumed was the contacts list. Then he started scrambling around the car.

"Seen any paper or pens?"

There was a pen in the drivers door compartment, which I handed to him. He found napkins in the center console. It took him a moment to adjust to holding the pen, but didn't take him long to record all the numbers there.

"We're going to have to destroy the phone" I let him know "they can trace it's location"

Miles didn't say anything at first. Then there was a fizzle and a small amount of arcing around the phone only then did he reply "done".

I leaned back in the seat again. "so we're not going to talk about last night?"

"Do we have to?"

I didn't look over at him, actually I had my eyes closed, I was so tired.

"Because I'd really rather not" He continued talking

Any sense of tack I might have had was long gone "We need to talk about it."

Miles sighted at first, then "Fine, sorry I went on a rampage in a street full of people."

"I'm not looking for an apology".

Wait, I wasn't?

"Really?"

"I need an explanation" I needed to stop nagging him before something I would regret happened.

"I don't really see what there is to explain, I mean it's pretty simple. Walrider plus stress equals bad things."

I wasn't stupid I knew that "But what about last night? You started wigging out and taking people hostage long before the walrider showed up"

There was a moment of silence. I still had my eyes closed, the only thing indicating that Miles was still there was the slight ruffle of cloth that I assumed was him adjusting himself in his seat.

"Did you ever hear any static in the asylum?"

I remembered having my eyes glued to that screen of sigils and symbols, remembered the first appearance of the Walrider. There in the darkened chambers I couldn't hear screaming that must have been there because of the roaring statics and screeches, I could barely see the horror through the white shapes.

"Sort of"

"Ok, well imagine whatever it was, and switch out the static for a voice."

"The Walrider?"

"Yes, it's been getting worse and having a full squad of cops being directed by a Murkoff employee, or whatever, didn't help."

"I understand that, but it looked really unprovoked"

"By that I'm guessing you mean: 'how do I know you're not going to go crazy and turn me into past on the wall'?"

That was exactly what I meant.

"Honestly, you don't."

"That doesn't make me feel any better"

"Sorry, either way I'm not going to do anything."

"You sure about that?"

"What do you mean by that?" he sounded taken aback

"To me it seems like you've been buddying up with that thing." There I said it, let the chips fall where they may.

"Trust me, I can't stand it. To tell you the truth, it's like having an annoying house guest with homicidal tendencies" there was a sad attempt at a joke in there. I wasn't laughing.

"Really? Because it looked like you were on pretty solid terms with it in the hospital. You did walk straight through it and have it go back into you without flinching, and… it's just weird. Ok?"

"Well, I needed it to get the job done."

"You ever stop to think that the more you use it the bigger a hold it'll have on you? Isn't that a common movie cliché?"

"The Walrider doesn't have a hold on me. I'm still in charge."

I opened my eyes after that comment.

"You're still in charge?" I hoped my incredulous tone made it through

"Yep. As long as I can tell the Walrider to stuff it and stop talking I'm perfectly in charge."

"You just went on a killing spree on main street. You. Are. Not. Incharge."

"I'm fine"

"No you're not"

"Yes I am"

"We're arguing like twelve year olds"

"I'm still ok though."

I huffed in annoyance, this wasn't going anywhere. Sitting up I blinked a few times and turned the car back on. "You're hopeless. Where are we going?"

"You're not seriously going to drive right now."

"Just give me an address"

"Now you're just being stubborn"

"Where in Salt Lake?"

"You're half asleep, turn the car off."

"No."

I wasn't seeing strait, and it barely registered on me when Miles unbuckled and got out of the car. Without my noticing he came to the drivers side door.

"Get in the passenger seat, I'm driving"

"I can drive just fine"

"You were napping during our conversation"

"I would have noticed that"

"There were nearly five minutes between each of your responses"

Really?

"Out of the seat you go, c'mon."

"I'll be fine."

Apparently he didn't buy it because next thing I knew I was being picked up out of the drivers seat.

"Hey!"

"You'll thank me later"

I was on my feet, but barely; Miles was half dragging me to the other side of the car. I got thumped down into the passenger seat, not long after Miles was in the drivers side putting the car into drive.

"You just take a nap, I'll wake you up when we get there."

"I don't need a nap" I already had my eyes closed.

"… sure you don't".

***Miles***

I had no idea where I was going.

The countryside had changed from the surrounding mountains of Colorado to the half mountain half desert terrain of east central Utah, the sun was high and the clock read ten minutes until noon, I'd been driving for just over two hours. Conversation was non existent, with Waylon asleep and the Walrider upsettingly silent. It had chimed in once during my switching to the drivers seat, but there'd been nothing since then. Even the radio only gave static.

I needed to get a change of clean clothes before going into any sort of town. There was no way I was going to try stealing some again. That left me one option.

I'd have to stop by Tims house

This wasn't going to be fun.

He lived in a small suburb on the east side of Spanish Fork, I figured I'd have to take 89 into town, it'd probably be smart to show up past dark if I could manage it.

I'd have some explaining to do. He wouldn't be happy to see me, especially after last Thanksgiving. Theresa might take a swing at me.

But hey, family is family. Right?

While taking my turn at the junction onto highway 89 a number of doubts and worries collided in my mind.

There was no guarantee that Tim wouldn't just call the cops. Getting to a computer was an issue too, I needed to get the footage to the public. I needed to edit it, to write an article, to get that shit on the air.

Then there was the Walrider. The last I'd heard was a smart ass comment about Waylon trying to drive while asleep. Since when did a nanobot ghost demon monster thing make jokes? Also, what exactly was it? There was a machine involved in there somewhere, but any other details were up in the air. It was over a week later and I still had no idea how the thing worked.

And Waylon. He hasn't been his twitchy self. The determination on taking down Murkoff seemed out of character for him. I'd only known him for about twelve hours before shit it the fan with his family, but it was clear that he was no hero. That and the dreams during his stay in the hospital were damn terrifying. I don't even know how I saw those. There had to be an end to how much one person should be able to torture themselves.

I needed something to clear my mind, driving wasn't doing half the job I'd hoped it would. The fucking radio wasn't playing anything. The road was empty as far as the eye could see. Anything would have been nice, even a dull ache or hunger pains that would let me know I'm still capable of feeling would be appreciated.

Driving down the road I passed the city limit sign for Mt. Pleasant.

Wait, what? I was almost halfway to Spanish fork after coming from Interstate 70. More importantly I had passed through Ephraim. When did that happen?

The clock read just passed one. Had I lost track of time that easily?

Shaking my head to wipe away the confusion I had no choice but to chalk it up to Walrider voodoo.

I didn't like this. If I was going to skip out on an hour of time I wanted to know about it. More importantly, the last time I checked out like that was in Waylons living room when the Walrider was in the drivers seat. Had I zoned out and left it in charge?

I'd have to pay close attention to the road, I couldn't let that keep happening.

I passed the Spanish Fork city limit sign.

Son of a bitch.

The clock read a quarter past three, the radio had a signal; some talk show was playing. The suburbs were coming up soon. It was the middle of the day, past lunch but before everyone got off.

So much for showing up past dark.

It didn't take me long to find his house, it'd been a while since I'd last visited, but I still remembered the way. Pulling into the drive I found Tim's beat up old truck, he was home at least.

Things hadn't changed too much. The lawn was a dead winter brown, there were still Christmas lights up from I don't know how many years ago. The bushes by the windows were semi well trimmed, just like the last time I visited. Tim may not be high class. He may not even be middle class but he worked hard for his kids, so I usually didn't give him guff for the less than stellar lawn.

It was taking me longer than I thought it would to work up the nerve to go inside. I realized that every moment I spent outside was another moment someone might notice my less then… clean, attire. But I really didn't want to confront Tim.

I realized I was stalling.

Ok, up I go. Just get out of the car and head up there. To the door. One two three up!

I was still sitting in the car.

"Ok, time to cut the crap" I said to myself before unbuckling the seat belt and stepping from the car. Leaving the little sedan I took stock of myself, the blood and who-knows-what-else that was splattered in my hospital gown had already dried to a rust brown that might have been mistaken for sandy mud. Walking towards the house I passed the passengers side door.

I should probably wake Waylon up, leaving him out here for long wouldn't help anything, worse case scenario he wakes up and gets himself into trouble, best case scenario he stays asleep and then gets pissy when he wakes up and realizes I'm in fresh clothes and he's still stuck in a gown.

I reached through where the passengers side window should have been.

"Hey, Waylon. Wake up princess"

I shook his shoulder

"...wha-miles. Where are-"

"Have a nice nap? We're in Utah, at my brother's house."

"Why are we at-"

"It won't be for long. When we get inside, just keep your head down and don't talk to anybody"

He was unbuckling his seat belt and opening the door while saying "why shouldn't I talk to-"

"Just trust me on this one" I didn't want to let Tim know what was going on. If he found out the details now there was no way he'd help me. It was better to let him figure things out on his own. Preferably a couple hours after I had left town.

"... right, trust you"

That was hardly called for.

I walked on, acting like I didn't notice the comment. I got to the door first and, after stalling for a second by admiring the plain white painted wood, I knocked. Waylon shuffled up behind me. It seemed like a lifetime before there was any noise from inside. In the yearlong seeming seconds it took for the door to open my stomach did a couple of somersaults. I could break into an asylum in the middle of the night but couldn't walk up to my brother in the middle of the day, go figure.

The door seemed to swing open too slowly to be believed. After the eternity I stood face to face with my younger brother for the first time in nearly a year.

"Hey Tim."

Upon seeing me his eyes narrowed. His weight shifted, and he threw a right hook straight into my jaw.


	19. 19, Hey Brother

AN: Here's chapter 19. Sorry that it's a bit short, but with all the homework it seems like all of my teachers are making up for lost time, Fridays chapter will be longer.

***Waylon***

A pop that must have been Miles's jaw bone rang out, along with a grunt of pain.

"The hell are you doing here you crusty son of a bitch?"

Before miles had a chance to respond a Tim was looking up at me and seemed ready to throw another punch.

"And who the hell would you be?"

I was suddenly jolted from my post nap haze and wide awake "I-, um.. I'm-"

"Shit Tim," Miles was standing back up with a hand feeling of his jaw "nice to see you too"

"I told you not to come back here you nosey bastard."

"I'm good, thanks for asking. Can I come inside? I really need a change in cloths. How's the wife and kids?"

Did Miles want to get the living hell beat out of him? Tim looked like he was considering a full wrestling match there and then. Also, he had to have noticed the fact that we were in hospital gowns and partially covered in blood, shouldn't that trump any kind of feud they might have between each other?

"You owe me a favor besides,"

"I don't owe you a damn thing" the way he was talking I was inclined to believe Tim

"That odd, if I seem to remember correctly I kept you out of jail, and got rid of that guy who was stalking Melony"

"Then you turned around and cost me my job, nearly the house too."

"Nearly. Besides, you had a pretty shit job you weren't losing much"

Ok, I had to say something now, before Miles made a complete ass of himself "Miles-"

"Shut up!" both brothers silenced me before I got a second word out.

"Don't suppose throwing a couple of shirts at you would be enough to make you leave."

"That's all I'm asking for" Miles told him with a grin.

Tim grumbled a reply and shut the door behind him as he disappeared back into the house.

The awkward silence didn't last long before Miles broke it "go ahead and ask it"

"Ask what?"

"I know you're wondering what the hell all of that was about."

I was "You're going to have to be more specific."

"About?"

"I'm wondering what you did that pissed him off so much, and why he wasn't the least bit worried that you showed up with a complete stranger and covered in blood at his front door. Also, why be so combative? That wasn't called for. Oh, and why did I need to be awake for this?"

Not having to be witness to this would have done wonders for my psyche. For all I knew he could be wanting to get into a fight with Tim, they obviously have some issues to work out, what if the Walrider was in there making Miles act on them. Or, what if they were both thinking it. Or what if I'm just over thinking everything and nothing's wrong?

Miles seemed stunned by what I said only to reply with "Tim lost his job, which is kind of on me, but like I said, it was a shit job, and not always legal. He doesn't ask questions, and that's what we need right now."

"Someone who doesn't ask questions?" I had an edge to my words

"Yes" he narrowed his eyes for a second "what's that supposed to mean?"

Before I said anything the front door opened revealing Tim, who was holding a cell phone and looking none too happy.

"I just got a phone call from Theresa, a man saying he was from the CDC was just at her work and was looking for you and some guy named Waylon. Why?"

"Oh, reasons. So, those cloths..."

"Get in the house. Tell me whats going on."

To my surprise Miles went inside, I'll be it after taking a while to think about it. I followed him in.

The living room was in a state of disarray, with a few childrens toys laying around, along with a towel and hair drier that were thrown haphazardly across an entable. The couch cushions buckled and were jumbled out of place; the couch itself had faded from what was probably a nice cream to the same shade as the graying carpet. Pictures hung on the walls and a poorly cared for vase adorned the coffee table that was home to a stack of newspapers, a knitting project, a half colored art project, and a score of remotes in an effort to pretty up the place. To the left were stairs and to the right I could see into a kitchen that looked like it was in a similar state.

Seeing evidence of kids that would be about the same age as mine forced me to push down a tide of bile. I could only imagine what was happening to them, the horrors, I had to find them. Had to help them, save them.

"...and that's why I'm pretty sure he isn't really with the CDC." Miles concluded his story that I hadn't been listening to.

"That doesn't explain the hospital gowns, or the blood." Tim was stone faced.

"We broke out of a hospital" Miles replied nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"That's an even longer story that I don't think you want to know. Either way, if anyone asks, we were never here and you haven't spoken to me since last thanksgiving."

"Why would I be doing you a favor?"

"Because I'm your favorite brother?" Miles gave a smile and a chuckle that would have made most people laugh along and go with whatever he said, but Tim was having none of it.

Seeing the non response Miles tried again "Because if you do talk to the guy nothing good will come out of it."

"Sounds a lot like talking to you" seems to me like sarcasm is a family trait.

"I'm serious about this one Tim. I wasn't going to talk to you at all, but I ended up with no other choices."

"Good knowing I'm your last resort" the sarcasm had evaporated, leaving only a harsh tone.

"If I came running over here for every little thing you know you'de get pissed off at me sooner or later" Miles fired back.

"I'm pretty pissed off now. You show up at my house in the middle of the day, covered in god knows what doing damned-if-I-know asking for me to do a favor."

"It's not like you don't owe me"

"Ya, I suppose I do, but I'm not going to put up with your bullshit."

"Why? I've dealt with yours for years"

"What do you mean by that?" Tim was standing up a bit straighter than before, this was going to end in blows, I knew it.

"I mean, ever since dad died you've been an ass to everyone"

"Oh hell no, we're not having this conversation again."

"Why not? Is it because it's true?"

"I just don't have to explain myself to you."

"Right, I suppose you don't have to explain yourself to your wife or kids either"

"Get out of my house" Tim didn't move to open the door nor did Miles move to leave.

"We both know that Theresa and Melony noticed your sudden drinking habit four years ago, little Jim probably isn't even old enough to remember a time you weren't a crotchety bastard"

"What I do in my own house is none of your damn business. Now leave!" Tim nearly shouted the last words

"Without reminding you about the time you took a swing at Thereasa when you were drunk?"

"Fucker, I never told you about that"

Wait. Never told miles. Does that mean the Walrider's the one who's talking? Can it read minds? But there was no voice change. There usually was, but what if it was different now, after yesterday?

I found that I was slowly backing away from the two and that my breath was coming out ragged.

The two went on fighting.

"There are lots of things you don't tell me about, like that one night on the highway when you had a head on with a minivan. You killed the driver, but the truck still ran and you were drunk, so you drove away and never told anyone."

Tims face went from an angry flushed red to near white.

"Take the damn clothes and leave."

"But we have so much to talk about" he sounded amiable, more like he was catching up with an old friend than terrifying his estranged half brother.

I had to believe that this was at least partially the Walriders fault, Miles was a chatter box, harshly sarcastic, and maybe even a bit blunt, but I had never seen him play manipulative mind games.

But then again I hardly knew him.

Tim had taken no time in throwing a wad of cloths at Miles, which he caught without looking at them.

"I don't call the CDC or whoever if you never talk about that, we're even. Now leave." there was an uneasy quiver in Tims voice.

He didn't need to tell me twice, I opened the door and hurried outside, not bothering to look behind me until I was already sitting in the drivers seat of the car.

Miles wasn't right behind me, he wasn't anywhere in sight. The front door hung open, though I could see neither of the two men. There behind the wheel I realized how easy it would be to just drive away and not turn around. To just be rid of the stress that came with second guessing Miles's state of mind.

I nearly turned the car on.

But then I couldn't stop myself from remembering that this was all my fault. If I had just gone public with my information, or even just kept my mouth shut and quit then none of this would have happened. I would be home, Miles wouldn't be possessed, my boys would be safe. Lisa would be alive...

Lisa.

Dear god, what have I done.

The passenger door clicking open jolted me from my thoughts. Miles slumped down into the passenger seat, dumping a bundle of clothes onto the dashboard in the process. I scooped them up and tossed them to the back seat.

"Where are we going now?" I asked him.

"Somewhere we can change into normal clothes, then to visit a contact of mine."

Oh christ, not another one. I couldn't suppress a sigh "and where would this one be?"

"She lives in Salt Lake"

"Does she have an address?" my reluctant response wasn't lost on him, but he didn't say anything.

"...probably, but I don't know it"

Of course he didn't. Without another word I shifted the car into drive. I had no idea where we were, but found a high way regardless. Following the road signs I went north to Salt lake.

I had trouble believing it, but deep in my gut I knew that things were about to get much worse.


	20. 20, All My Ex's

AN: Wow, I'm surprised (and happy) that this has lasted all the way to chapter 20. Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed, especially my repeat reviewers.

***Miles***

Why was I even bothering with trying to find Chealsy? She was probably going to laugh at me and walk away the second I said a word to her. It wasn't like I'd already had my share of rude welcomes.

I had to find her because she can help, besides she'll probably enjoy the chance to take down Murkoff, if she doesn't take all the credit herself. She always was the attention hog. Never happy with just breaking a story, she always had to make sure her name was plastered over everything she did. Glory hound.

"Is that her?" Waylon asked from across the table. We were in a little cafe that Chealsy used to be a regular at. I had no idea where she was now, it'd been months since I'd talked to her.

"No" the lady was tall, but her hair was too dark and she was in flats. Chealsy wears heels and is implausible to miss.

"This would be a lot easier if you told me what she looked like" Waylon sure did have a chip on his shoulder, he'd been on my case ever since yesterday. It wasn't like I didn't deserve it, but he could at least be giving me a chance.

"Trust me, you'll know when you see her." assuming she'd even be here.

"I can't just look at people and know things Miles"

Was he taking another crack at me?

I sighed in annoyance, this was getting old "I'm getting real tired of your second guessing me"

Waylon didn't look back at me, but kept looking around the cafe. I knew he was on edge anyway, I could hear the police cuffs that were still stuck on his wrists rattling. "I'm getting pretty tired of it too."

"If you won't second guess him, then I guess I'll have to."

Waylon jerked his view up, past me. I swiveled in my seat to see behind me.

I found Chealsy.

Standing there she was dressed something like the love child of paris hilton and a San Francisco hippy. So really nothing was out of the ordinary. She invited herself to the table and took one of the two remaining chairs.

"So , what brings you here?" she had that self satisfied purr to her voice, like a cat who was sitting with a mouse trapped under its paw.

"It's a long story," I began.

"Oh? I like stories."

"Cut the cutesy crap, this ones big, but we need to be somewhere more private before I tell you more."

She took a lazy glance towards waylon "Private with company? I don't remember you being into that sort of thing Mr. Upshur"

I might have heard Waylon stifle a surprised cough. I needed to move this along, she wasn't going anywhere until she knew she was verbally outgunned. Suddenly I knew the quickest way to get things done...

"If you keep making offers like that I'll have to let Robert know your relationship isn't as exclusive as he thinks it is."

When the hell had she started dating Robert? And more importantly: what the hell does she see in him? He's dumb as a post and is an asshole with a bad mustache.

"Touche," she didn't miss a beat that I seemed to know about her business, probably thought that I had done my homework before showing up "so, what's so important?"

"I'll tell you once we get outside and away from so many prying ears."

"Awfully paranoid, aren't we?"

"Damn strait."

We all three stood, it could have been a quite moment, but Chealsy kept on with comments.

She caught sight of the cuffs still stuck on Waylons wrists, "you never played games like that with me "

Poor Waylon took the bait "What? um, no. It's not like that. I... it's a long story why there are manacles, and well. Um..."

"It's ok, I can tell when two men are-."

"C'mon you two" I walked out of the cafe without seeing if they were following.

Waylon looked mortified, Chealsy was self satisfied, I was impatient.

"My, my. So pushy. I like it"

I knew finding her was a bad idea. But I needed her help.

_We don't need help._

**And where the hell have you been?**

_Just straightening some things out. Feeding you useful things when I found them._

**Ya, I've noticed your little... nuggets, of information.**

_Then you know that we don't need any help, we could destroy Murkoff all on our own._

**I know that, but we can't just destroy it, we need to ruin them. The world has to know what they did. **

_But we still don't need help._

**Ya we do, and what do you mean "straightening things out"?**

_You'll see._

I didn't like the sound of that.

I felt the Walrider fade into the background more than anything. I didn't like how natural that was starting to feel.

"...so if you have to know, it was twelve. At the same time"

The look on Waylons face told me that he didn't want to know, and that Chealsy had brought up what ever she was going on about.

We were at the car. I got in the passenger side, Waylon circled around to the drivers seat as Chealsy slipped into the back.

"You sure do know how to make a girl feel welcome, are these hospital gowns?"

Ignoring the first part I replied "yes, I'll explain in a second."

"Sounds like you've got a hell of a story to tell" a wicked grin had made its home on her face, she expected a juicy story. Unfortunately she'd found one.

Waylon had pulled into the flow of traffic; I was reasonably sure that there was no way anyone outside of the car could hear us.

"Save all your questions and comments till the end, understand?"

"Ya, ya sure. Grade school rules."

"Ok, first off, this is about Murkoff. Second, I've got evidence to send them down a hole deep enough they couldn't get out even if they had wings."

"And what-"

"Shhh. Everythings on two different cameras. I need you to line up someone who can get the footage onto some big name, legitimate stations. I need to spread this shit so far that it gets too big to sweep under the rug. I'll give you the cliff notes version: I went to visit our friends at Mount Massive asylum, found the place all beat to hell, got trapped inside and spent my night running away from delusional, murderous patients. I barely escaped alive. Waylon over there used to work for them, questioned Murkoffs lack of ethics and got himself forcefully admitted. He was there when all the inmates broke out and barely escaped alive.

"After that I went straight to Donnie, but shit hit the fan there too. Long story short, we still have the footage, and Murkoffs out for our blood."

"They killed my wife."

Chealsy was about to reply, but was left with a dangling jaw from Waylons comment.

"And they took my sons"

"Oh. Fuck." I could see her grinding her teeth like she usually did when she thought long and hard about something. "What did Donnie get done?"

"Not much. Murkoff raided the place, got SWAT involved. It was messy."

"They killed Donald too?"

"Damned if I know" shit, I didn't even know what happened to Donald.

"What about the hospital gowns, why's this one covered in blood? Are these bullet holes?"

"uhh, we got taken to the hospital after the SWAT raid, broke out a week later, then got stuck in the middle of a shoot out."

"You got shot?"

"Well, yes. But it's under control."

I could nearly feel Waylon shifting in his seat at my last words.

"Bull shit, we're going to see Lamar. Take a left up here."

"Don't take a left, theres no reason to see a doctor, even one in a shady ally."

"You got shot"

"Been shot enough times to lose count, like I said it's been a long week. Anyways, can you get the footage off a couple of camcorders into the hands of someone who's believable and big enough not to be touched by murkoff?"

"Probably. What's on them? Specifically?"

"It'd take to long to explain. Just watch one of them." I opened the glove box and pulled out Waylons camera.

Chealsy wasted no time in opening the screen and watching the footage on it. I had no idea how long his video was, or what exactly was on it. For the longest time she was quite. It took nearly an hour for her to tell Waylon to head to the west side of town. After twenty more minutes she told him to look for a self storage, she didn't say the name of it, only that it was climate controlled. Thirty minutes of searching later we found it and pulled into the parking lot.

Neither me nor Waylon knew what to say, so we sat in dumb silence. Too long of a time went by before Chealsy looked up from the little camera.

"What the fuck."

Was she going to say anything else?

"Seriously, holy shit."

"...and?"

"What the hell were they doing to you, and how are you still alive?" she said to waylon "What was project walrider? Was it the ghost thing? What happened to the cannibal guy? Where was Miles during this? Was the dying guy at the end Jeremy Blair? Who is ? Were those tactical cops at the end? Who was the figure walking in the black whirlwind at the end?"

"Ummmm..."

"Where did this car come from? How does Murkoff know you two saw all this stuff? Why is Miles missing two fingers? Is Mount Massive still just sitting there? What was going on in the basement? Why didn't you take your sweet time killing Gluskin? Who smashed the radio? Who are the three lucid dreamers? What does code triple black mean?"

"Uhhh...?"

"What is the morphogenic engine? Was the place haunted? What started the fire in the chapel? How are you two still sane? How did Murkoff think that they were going to make money off of this? Why use maniacs? Who lets their asylum get so damn disgusting?"

"Are you done?"

"No. What was Waylons job? Who is William Hope? Why employ an ex-nazi? Why were there no women working there? Was that one guy in the beginning licking you? What happen to the D.I.D. redneck?"

"Damn woman, one at a time."

"ok, this seems like a big one: what the hell is 'The Walrider'? Was it the black smoke monster?"

"I said one, but ok. The Walrider does look like a smoke skeleton, thing. So ya, that would be it. And it's either a ghost, or sentient nanobots, or the mind of one of the patients, or a demon from German folklore, not sure which one."

Waylon raised an eyebrow at me, talk about a vote of no confidence.

"Ok, what happened to it?"

I took a look at Waylon, who looked back at me, a bit too wide eyed for my liking. "Not a damn clue"

I knew it that that was a lie, Waylon knew it, and Chealsy sure as hell knew it too.

"What happened to the Walrider Miles?"

She called me by my first name, I was in trouble now.

"Long story..."

"I've got time"

"Well..." there was no real way of putting it lightly.

"Is it out rampaging across Colorado?"

"Not in colorado, and I wouldn't say rampaging."

Waylon cut in "You wouldn't?"

"Oh not this again."

"Not what?" Chealsy must have known she was sitting at the edge of something juicy.

"So..."

_I don't see why you aren't just telling her. _

"... god damn it..." I don't want the Walrider talking to me during this

Waylon noticed my under the breath comment, I saw him skink back to the other side of his seat.

"Say again" chealsy said.

"So," I continued on "the Walrider's still alive. As alive as it ever was-"

_More alive actually_

"-and it's kind of... living in my head?"

"What."

"It's not as bad as it sounds."

Waylon snorted, natch.

"What" she repeated

"And, well. I mean, better to keep an eye on it. Right?"

"You're possessed." she finally managed to sputter out the words.

"Well, no."

"Sounds like you are."

"I'm not."

"Really?" Waylon cut in again.

"You know i'm not"

"Is he?" Chealsy asked him

"I'm right here you know." this was starting to get irritating.

"Kind of, I mean: the Walrider's definitely in there, but I don't really know how different-"

"Hi, never mind me. It's not like I'm literally two feet away from the both of you."

"Ok. Test of character, where were we the first time we slept together."

Oh shit

_Back seat of the jeep_

"Umm. The jeep?" Waylons face grew a few shades more red

"When's my birthday?"

_June tenth_

"June something"

"Mmmhmm, what story were we working on when you dumped me?"

I knew this one

"I was breaking a story on human trafficking in California, you were trying to steal credit for it."

"And what hotel were we staying at?"

_It was a motel six_

"Motel six"

"I'm convinced" chealsy said "He's possessed, and the Walrider or whatever seems smarter than Miles ever was."

"Hey!"

"Let's face it, theres no way in hell you would have remembered all of that."

That was true, but still, it's the principle of the thing.

"Fine, whatever" I talked on "We should get out of this parking lot, I don't want to be out in the open any longer than I need to be."

"Still as pushy as ever, some things never change."

Waylon mustered the will to speak up as we left the car "So, why exactly are we at a storage place?"

"Bug out rooms my dear boy."

"Oh, of course" at this point you'd think he'd stop being surprised by the odd habits of people I introduce him to.

We made our way into the climate controled place, following Chealsy all the way. She still had Waylons camera in hand. I had the mind to grab mine, I wasn't about to risk it getting stolen or lost. She lead us through the empty lobby and up a flight a stairs, conspicuously avoiding the elevator. After leaving the echoing stairwell we walked down a hallway that was surrounded on all sides by bright orange garage doors, each leading to a large storage unit.

At number 257 chealsy stopped to unlock and open the door. Once it was opened we were greeted by what seemed like a sheer wall of boxes and a wiry metal shelf.

"You two can stay here until we get something else sorted out." she said to us.

"Um, thank you?" Waylon tried to be polite.

Chealsy rolled her eyes, stepped forward and pushed on a stack of boxes; they slowly moved from place. After she made a bit more commotion than necessary there was space enough for someone to slip between the boxes, which Chelsy did.

"Down the rabbit hole we go" I told waylon with a shrug before squeezing past the boxes.

On the other side of the wall was an empty pocket. There were battery powered lamps, which Chealsy was systematically turning on. As the room grew brighter I could make out more details of the area. There was an aged couch sagging in the corner, complete with a coffee table that housed a radio. In the opposite corner was a desk table, with a chair, small file cabinet, and desk lamp. Against the wall of boxes was a curtain that would block any light that might seep through, against the back wall were two more wire shelves housing everything from car batteries to sleeping bags and from water jugs to cutlery.

"Cozy" I commented as Waylon shuffled into the room.

"I think so too" Chealsy jokingly agreed with me just before reaching through the gap to shut the garage door and pushing the boxes back into place.

I took a seat on the couch, Waylon perched himself on the office chair.

"So whats the plan ?" Chealsy still had the same teasing tone as always.

I took a second to look at Waylon. We both knew that Murkoff was going to burn, but priority number one for him was his children's safety.

_Step one is to hunt down every one from the phones contact list._

Still looking at Waylon I said "priority number one is rescuing Waylons kids."

_No it's not_

"And how are we going to do that?"

"We? Your just here for the media coverage"

"So you two manly men are going to stroll into you-don't-know-where, pick up Waylons kids, and then walk back out, tipping your hats to Murkoff security all the way? Can either of you even pick a lock? No? You were just going to go in busting doors and taking names?" she stood with an impatient foot tapping on the ground and eyebrow cocked in disapprovement.

"Maybe we should bring her along" Waylon spoke up first.

_No_

"Fine, but you're not going into any buildings." I told her through gritted teeth.

"Worried about little old me? Please, it'll be just like old times. Remember when we snuck into that warehouse to get footage of that human traffickers?"

"Don't remind me."

That had been a disaster, the whole thing had collapsed, a fire broke out, the guy got away, and Chealsy and I nearly got burned alive.

"Good, you and Waylon can start doing your homework on Murkoff, I've got all your old files in that cabinet" she pointed to the file cabinet next to waylon

"Wait, what? I took all of those with me when I left."

"I made copies, you didnt really think i'd just let you escape with all that information, did you?"

_...resourceful, isn't she._

**Shut up.**

"Whatever, you go do your thing, I'll do the actual research." I shrugged off my surprise.

"Just like old times" she had a wry smile spreading across her face.

Turning on her heel she struggled with the boxes- Waylon got up to help her- while I moved over to the file cabinet.

Rummaging through my pockets I pulled out the wrinkled napkin that held all the names from the 'agents' contact list. Most didn't stand out, though a few rang some bells. J. Blair, goddamn Trager, C. Houston, H. Granant, K. Drayer.

_These weren't all at the asylum._

**Ok, who was?**

_Blair we killed on the way out of Mount Massive. Trager you killed. Houston died early on. Drayer we destroid. Granant is still alive._

**What do you know about him?**

_She left early on, so not much._

That was a first.

"Hey Waylon, the name Granant mean anything to you?"

He had just finished pushing the boxes back into place "Um, the name was on a lot of corporate memos. First name Hellen?"

_...Yes_

"ya, her name was on Figueroa's contact list."

"Must be important then."

I took hard look at the napkin "Lets hope so."


	21. 21, Alert the Media

AN: Hello once again everyone. Thanks to everyone who's been keeping up. Enjoy the chapter. (I realize this is an unusually shoe AN, but I'm kind of walking out of my house right now. See ya'll Wednesday)

***Waylon***

It was less than five minutes after Chealsy left the storedge and Miles had already pulled out an impossibly large amount of paper work from a tiny file cabinet that sat in the corner behind the office desk. Most of the documents were testimonials from the sixties, a few papers referred to "charity" works Murkoff had done in Africa and Southeast Asia, on the edge of the table were a set of blueprints.

"Where did you get those?" I pulled the prints from under a mound, they were labeled with an address I didn't recognize

"Contacted city hall, if a building was built legally they have a copy of the blue prints."

Damn, there must have been a years worth of research on this table, and I had a hunch that this wasn't all of it. Miles looked like he knew exactly what he was looking for, which left me to meander hopelessly in the storage locker.

I sat on the couch, waiting for I-don't-know-what. I considered looking over Miles's camera, which he had sat on the coffee table, but was interrupted by the sound of the storage door opening. Both me and miles jerked our gazes upward. Who was it? Murkoff? What did they want?

"Just me!" it was Chealsy, who had started to push boxes to enter the room, "I just realized I don't have the keys to the car"

The heart attack i nearly had was moving on by now "Umm, actually we don't have the keys" I sputtered out the words.

She gave me a look that seemed to ask 'really?' all on it's own, before asking "So what, you hotwired the thing?"

"Yes, actually" I gave a straight answer.

"Well ok then. Come on Waylon, we're taking a field trip"

"What?"

"You, heard me, come on."

I took a look back at Miles who was covering up a grimace and ducking back down at his papers. Not sure if he was reading something particularly interesting, or if he just knew something I didn't, I walked to the hole in the boxes.

"Watch your back Waylon, she might stab it." Miles didn't look up as he talked

"Oh haha, very funny" Chealsy shot back at him "let's go Waylon"

With hesitation I followed her. There was something more than just casual bantering in their exchange. They obviously had a history and unfortunately for me they seemed to still have some tention to work through.

We both moved out of the room, I pulled the boxes back into place. We went back down the same hallways we had upon entering, for whatever reason Chealsy avoided the elevator. It wasn't until we were leaving the lobby that she spoke up.

"I don't mean to be nosey, but I need to know every detail about your life."

I didn't even really know this lady, never mind the fact that I'd been living off nothing but adrenaline and paranoia for the last couple of weeks, I wasn't about to tell her the personal details of my life.

Despite all that thinking, the only thing that made it out was a staggered "what?"

"I'm a reporter" she explained as if it excused everything "knowing things is my job"

"uhhh..." I tripped over my words as we moved into the car "what exactly are you asking for?"

"Details, your name, age, birth date, occupation, how you were involved with Murkoff, your motivations, maybe an inspirational quote, also if you have any insider information about the company..."

She had started up on another barrage of questions and rattled out at least fifteen of them before I pulled the car out of the parking lot.

After the verbal assault I felt more exhausted than I should, how did the woman have this much energy?

"...so you can start by why you tried to blow the whistle on Murkoff in the first place"

"Why is any of this relevant?" we had a rescue to plan.

"Not the response I was looking for, but ok. I need all the information I can get and I don't know if I'll have a nice quiet car ride in the future to talk to you. Besides, having a heart wrenching human interest story full of all the messy details will play merry hell with Murkoffs credibility."

"Ok. I tried to contact the press because people were dieing and impossible experiments were going on."

"I'll put you down as ' a courageous champion of human rights'. Ya, that'll do."

"Wait, what? Why? I'm not very-"

"Brave? No ones going to believe that after seeing those tapes. Besides, you said you had kids, right? I'll set you up as a human rights activist and a man trying to protect his family. People love that kind of stuff. I guess I can pretend Miles is a martyr, a lone reporter out to uncover the truth, who got screwed up mentally in the process," she chuckled to herself "that should explain any weirdness because of the walrider, don't you think?"

She seemed a bit too excited about this whole thing for my tastes "Well, sure it would, but don't you think that we should rescue my kids first? Or just tell everyone the truth?"

"The truth doesn't sell stories dear. This ones pretty messed up, granted, so most of it will stay in tact, I'm just saying we should embellish a bit about your motivations." she seemed like she was in reporter mode. I could only imagine her and Miles fighting over how to break a story, embellishment versus unfiltered truth.

"But..."

"But what? Anyways get onto the highway, we have errands to run."

Great, I was a chauffeur now.

"Another thing, did you actually work on project Walrider? That seems like it was Massives main project."

I was going to regret my answer "Yes, but not directly"

"What did you do?"

"I worked on maintaining the morphogenic engine, I didn't run any experiments, and most the office workers there just made me repair their broken computers. My official title was Chief Systems Moderator, but really I just saw one or two lines of code at a time."

"So you're telling me...? Also, exit here"

"I don't know anything about the Walrider other than it needs a host, and the last host needed a massive machine just to stay alive. That's all"

"...interesting."

good, the conversation was over. I sighed in relief.

"Then why is Miles walking around like everything's fine?"

"What do you mean?" nevermind.

"You said that the last host needed a big-ass machine just to keep breathing, last time I checked Miles wasn't hooked up to said big-ass machine. Why?"

"..." that was a good question.

"You have no idea, do you? Take the next left"

Not one "well, maybe he... I mean what if..." she was right, what the hell did that mean?

"Good to know my partner in crime's just as far in the dark as I am."

"Partner?" I didn't sign up for that

"We're planning to break into wherever, rescue your kids, then absolutely ruin a cartoonishly evil corporation by launching a smear campaign strait from the pits of hell. We're going to commit a few crimes in the process."

She wasn't wrong.

"You sure are a man of few words, aren't you Waylon. Oh ya, that reminds me, what's your last name? I just realised I don't actually know anything about you."

"It's Park and there's not much to know."

"Bullshit, everyones got a story"

"I don't, really"

"Sure, so your motivations for taking down Murkoff are what? Finding your kids?"

"Yes."

"And thats it, nothing else? Turn right. That's your entire motivation in life, and sums up everything about who you are."

"Well, mostly"

"What else is there? You mentioned your dead wife, getting revenge for her is on your to do list, right?"

"Definitely."

"Ok, to me those two things describe a reckless anti-hero type with nothing to lose. And that doesn't describe you at all."

I wasn't sure if I should take offence to that.

"So, unless you're actually some crazy mastermind who's using Miles like a little pawn in your big revenge plot, you have something more to you than just revenge. Go left "

She just said she didn't know a thing about me, yet here she was judging me. Biting down a shade of annoyance I responded "sure, I have thoughts about things other than revenge" for example there was a crushing sense of guilt, paranoia, and helplessness "but right now the only thing that matters is getting Connor and Garret back from those monsters, so if I have to focus on that and nothing else, then so be it."

"Great, I'm stuck with a semi-suicidal nut job and my possesed ex. What could go wrong?"

I knew I took offence to that.

I drove on in silence, with Chealsy only speaking to give directions. A meager five minutes later she told me to stop at an apartment. I pulled the little car up to the curve, she got out and told me to stay put, as if I were thinking about ditching her here. As she disappeared into the building I considered doing just that.

After a single car ride with her I could see why Miles had been so reluctant to find her. She was kind of a bitch, but it was obvious that she knew what she was doing when it came to snooping for information. Either way I hoped that she did actually have the contacts necessary to spread word of Murkoff far and wide.

Before I had too long to think of anything she came back out of the building with a suitcase, duffle bag and small backpack. Opening the back door she dumped everything inside, then quickly made her way to the passengers seat. As she fell into the seat she was already dialing someone on her phone.

"Hey, you somewhere you can speak english?" she spoke into her cell.

Odd way to start a conversation, but ok.

"Ok, great." she turned towards me, "go ahead and get back onto the highway, southbound" she spoke back into the phone "oh, that was just another contact. Ya, I can say whatever in front of him. Do you remeber Miles Upshur?"

I moved through the streets, trying desperately to find the high way and listen to her conversation at the same time.

"Good, because he's got a forklifts worth of dirt on our favorite company."

There were two intersecting highways.

"Of course I mean Murkoff, who else? Anyways, it's video evidence and an ex-employee. Trust me, there's so much proof they couldn't get out of this if they hired every lawyer on the planet."

I got onto one, hoping that I was southbound

"Anyways, how soon can you get stateside? I can't send this stuff over the mail, Murkoffs on our asses like white on rice."

Telling by the sun set I was going the right way, maybe.

"Ten days? Fuck, there are kids lives at stake here. Yes i said kids, two of them. It's a long story and I might have to lose this phone soon."

Where were we going now?

"A weeks the best you can do, hey? Sure that works fine. We're in Salt Lake. Don't go to my apartment. Meet us at the usual place... see you then"

She hung up.

"Exit here." I had to cut across three lanes to do so "damn that was close." she looked at her phone, only to pop the back off and take out the battery "Hey, tekky, don't suppose you can kill this phone, wipe it or something?"

I could, if she bothered to ask instead of just ordering me around.

"Still not talking? Have it your way than" she simply chucked the device out the window.

"..." I was driving with a crazy lady.

"Go ahead and pull in here." she directed me towards a little strip center. I parked in the space nearest the lots exit.

Chealsy left the car, I turned it off and followed.

"Could you be any more paranoid?" she said from over her shoulder

"W-what?"

"You've been looking over your shoulder sense we left the storage unit, never mind that your hand was shaking like a leaf in the car."

"I have a healthy level of suspicion, and my hand was not shaking."

"Ya it was. And calm down, there aren't any Murkoff lackeys here. They shouldn't have any clue that you're in town anyways."

"Well..."

"They don't know you're in town, do they?" her voice dropped half an octave.

"Not exactly, but they did question Miles's brother, so they probably think we're in state. I mean they probably know we're out for blood, or at least not very happy with them."

"Damnit, I thought they'd at least be spinning their wheels for a while. At least you two are still on the low end of their radar"

"ummm..."

"Oh christ, what did you two do to get their attention."

"Other than trying to expose them, their might be a couple of casualties..."

"You murdered Murkoff employees?" she had turned to face me and was whisper yelling

"No, Miles did. Sort of. I mean... the walrider did, but Miles was not opposed to it."

"...damn it Upshur. Ok fine, lets just get through the day."

Finally, something I could agree with.


	22. 22, You Think You Know a Guy

AN: Hey guys here's chapter 22, please enjoy. Once again thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, and everyone who's been keeping up with the story in general. Also, there is a chunk of gore in this chapter, you have been warned.

***Miles***

Waylon had been gone with Chealsy for less than ten minutes before I realized that this was the first time I'd been alone in over a week.

"wow" I said outloud to myself, only to hear the words echo back at me.

_Its nice to have some alone time_

"Oh great, you're still here" I didn't care so much about not talking aloud to the Walrider at the moment, it wasn't like there was anyone around to give me strange looks.

_But of course. After all, we are one._

"ya, ya whatever. Don't suppose you can make yourself useful at all."

_... by doing what?_ it sounded pretty annoyed, guess I wasn't giving the homicidal AI enough respect.

Oh well.

"I don't know. be a second pair of eyes or something. Read some papers, go see what's on Waylons camera. Anything."

There was a vexed buzzing noise in my ears as a thin stream of gray came out from under my left sleeve. A patch of my skin was set crawling as the haze gathered into a cloud that streamed towards Waylons camera.

Satisfied that that would keep the Wallrider busy for at least a while I went back to reading some old articles I had printed out. So far I'd found a few mentioning one Helen Granant. She was apparently some company bigwig, opened all sorts of "charity" foundations. Worked for Murkoff R&D, not Psychiatric Systems.

As long as nothing had changed in the month it'd been since I'd checked Murkoff was an umbrella corporation that had three branches, one for Research and Development, Psychiatric Systems, and one for Pharmaceuticals. Each had a "charity" that did horrible, horrible things. Psychiatric systems had Mount Massive and a few similar overseas operations. Murkoff Pharmaceuticals gave out free vaccinations, which I was ninety percent sure were just saline laced with exotic diseases; when the people inevitably got sick Murkoff would offer health care, but would really just study the effects of the diseases and use the infected people as guinea pigs for new treatments. That particular operation was done exclusively overseas, but if my sources were right they were setting up shop in south america too. Murkoff R&D's brand of terrible was a bit harder to pin down; they usually set up summer camps with a focus on biology and other sciences. It was harder to see where they were headed with that one, but I had found a disturbing trend; the older kids who did well in the program and some of the more devoted volunteer staff had a habit of disappearing without a trace. While I couldn't find any hard evidence I was almost convinced that the missing people were being used as cheap labor. Hopefully.

Of course the company as a whole involved itself in money laundering, and apparently had hit-men on the payroll if Drayer and Figueroa meant anything, so there was that.

Staring at a news article from a few years ago about Mount Massives reopening I became aware of the Wallrider. I also learned what Waylon had seen in the asylum. Struggling to repress a shudder I fought to filter out the horrors from his camera to find any useful information. There had been a few documents recorded on Waylons camera, two stuck out. Both from near the end of the film. One was written by Granant, telling from her memo she lacked a soul or conscience just like the rest of Murkoff. The other told of "three blind dreamers". Apparently they were moved to the Zeichner facility, the way the memo was written they were just as dangerous as the Walrider. I got an ugly feeling that there was going to be a Mount Massive Part Two.

"Shit"

_You shouldn't shudder like that every time I tell you something new. People will think something is wrong with us._

What? oh right, I had the shakes after seeing all the shit on Waylons camera

"If you've got a problem you could just make me not shake. So don't pretend that it bothers you that much"

_Testy today, aren't we?_

"I just don't like being sassed by a homicidal AI"

_What is an AI?_

"Artificial intelligence. I'm surprised, I would have expected a nanobot monster to know what it was made of"

_I'm no artificial intelligence._

"Could have fooled me. But then again I had about ten different papers saying different things and about half a dozen inmates blathering on. I'm just going off of what Warnicke said because he seemed to be the least crazy thing in the whole damn asylum."

_I assure you I've been around far longer than Warnicke._

"Ok, that doesn't tell me much about what the hell you are."

_What I am is neither here nor there but I am not some lowly machine_

"Fine, guess I'll just start calling you 'ye olden ghost monster'"

_You're so clever._

"Sounds like someones grown a sense of sarcasm"

_Suppose I have._

The thing was starting to piss me off "you sure have lost your edge. What happened to you're 'burn the world' speeches. You sound like a bitter has been."

_You've rubbed off on me, what can I say. Besides, I think we have the same ideas about what to do to people standing in our way._

I was done talking to this thing "why don't you go haunt the building you damn spook, I'm doing work."

_Hmph, so rude._

"Out"

There was no reply, though the lights around the room flickered a few times.

Before they burned out completely.

"You think you're so damn funny, don't you!"

There was no reply. Swallowing down a mountains worth of angry retorts I stumbled through the dark until I bumped into the wall of boxes. After pulling the few that severed as a hidden door I tugged at the garage door, only to find it locked.

Great.

Retreating back into the darkened locker I left the boxes splayed out and shuffled back to where I knew the couch should be. I plopped down and waited. The longer I sat the worse my mood got.

I could be doing research, putting a plan together, but no. The Walrider just had to throw a bitch fit and kill the lights. And Chealsy was probably out doing god knows what, with my luck she and Waylon probably got arrested or some nonsense. Come to think of it, it'd been nearly a day without anything going horribly wrong, Murkoff was probably breaking into the building at this very moment.

_If you care to compromise I can fix the light situation._

"Fuck off" my mood had been spoiled already.

_Well if you're going to be like that..._

I already regretted what I was about to say "Fine, just fix the lights"

Without a verbal response a pressure, not unlike a migraine, started forming. Suddenly thankful that I was sitting on the couch, I found that my balance was all over the map. Even sitting up was a challenge. If I didn't know better I'd say I'd been drugged. Feeling nauseous I closed my eyes and let my head rest against a shoulder. I might have lost consciousness for a minute or two. I'd have to remember never to ask the Walrider to fix something ever again.

I opened my eyes to find the room in a dim haze, like it was covered in fog.

"Waylon, Chealsy?" had they gotten back and turned on a light?

_No, just us. And you're welcome._

The hell was it going on about now?

Regaining some of my balance I stood from the couch. Deciding just to shake off my disorientation I walked back over to the table. I knew the light hadn't been turned back on, and that the Walrider must of done something weird to my eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to care at the moment. I could read my papers, how wasn't really that important.

I'm not sure for how much longer I read and reread the documents, of how many notes I wrote down. I always found myself getting lost in information like this. If I'd had fridge and a six pack I could have fooled myself into thinking I was back at my apartment.

At some point I heard a noise that barely registered from outside the storedge-unit, the lock on the door was being undone, half a minute later the garage door went up.

A shaft of light that seemed too bright to be real came blazing into the room. Despite that there was silence after the roar of the opening door

"Miles?" that was Waylon

"What?" I shielded my eyes from the light. From what I could hear someone was walking into the still dimmed room.

"Damn it's dark in here" that was Chealsy "what happened to the lights?"

"uhh... they burned out?" I said from under my hand-shielded face

"uh-huh, and why exactly did they do that?"

"Good question" they knew why "don't suppose you have some sunglasses on you, do you?"

"Sorry, looks like you're going to have to deal with the big bad lights" Chealsy had that grinning tone to her voice.

At this point I had at least moved my hands away from my face, but I kept my eyes closed. The brightness stung through my eyelids.

"Oh ya, we brought back dinner" I heard the squeaking of styrofoam on the desk

"I'm not hungry."

"When's the last time you ate?"

"..." I wasn't too sure

"That's what I thought, now eat your damn dinner"

"Fine" I picked up the warm box and followed the wall to the other side of the room, which wasn't lit.

I might have been acting like a whiny teenager, but my mood was low enough for me not to care.

Opening up the box I saw that inside was an enchilada with some rice and beans. It smelled great, but I couldn't bring myself to eat anything.

My eyes were slowly adjusting to the brightness, Waylon and Chealsy were still little more than silhouettes in the light, but I didn't feel like tiny daggers were digging into my retinas. So yay. Chealsy seemed to be rummaging around through a pack of some sort, only to pull out a flashlight and click it on. The light swiveled across the room, nearly blinding me, again.

"Here you go Waylon" she handed the flashlight off "I've got things to do, and you're probably exhausted, there are sleeping bags on the rack, and the couch folds out. Nighty night" she was back out the door before she stopped speaking.

The garage door slammed shut and left Waylon and me standing in the dark. Waylon fidgeted with the flashlight and walked over to one of the wire shelves where he pulled out a sleeping bag. I stood up and walked back to the desk.

Waylon moved to the couch, clinging to the flashlight all the way "you should probably go to sleep" he said while folding the couch out into a bed.

"I'm not tired" I thought I could hear an annoyed sigh

"Ok, see you in the morning" the light clicked off, leaving the room in the same gray haze it had been in before he got back.

That was odd, no passive aggressive comments, no paranoiac second guessing. Chealsy must have gotten to him.

Deciding that I didn't want to start a before bed debate I went back to rereading my papers. It must have been hours before there was any movement in the room. Waylon started mumbling something, he must have been dreaming. Poor bastard.

_I'm board._

"Fucking shit, not now" I kept my voice low.

_Lets go see what's going on._

I remembered what Waylon had been dreaming about back in the hospital, I didn't want to see it again.

"No"

_But it will be fun._

"Not for me it wont"

_Right, because these papers are so interesting._

My last nerve had been worn away a long time ago "ok, fine, fuck it. Go, do whatever. Don't scramble Waylons brain up to badly. See you in the morning."

_Finally._

As the word drifted from my mind the room cut out to darkness.

Way to go miles, now you can't see shit.

The room slowly came back into focus, only for me to realize that I wasn't in Kansas any more. The storage locker had become a small apartment, Waylon was standing over a mound of papers, Lisa was there as well, whatever they were talking about, it wasn't good

"_Now it's just a matter of enjoying the show_"

The fact that the Walrider sounded like it was actually talking instead of just making noise in my head caught me off guard. Looking around I found that nothing was there other than what I assumed to be Waylons dream. I already didn't like this.

Without having anything to do besides just waiting this out I walked over to Waylon and Lisa. As I got closer their words started to get less jumbled.

"We just can't keep up..." Waylons head rested in his hands.

"We can find way" Lisa told him with a pat to the back.

On the table I saw that all of the papers were bills, most of them over due.

"Hey!" I said "Waylon, wake up!" there was no response from him.

Great. Looks like I'm stuck here.

Before I had too long to complain the lights shifted, it must be him remembering a different day. The bills had vanished off the table, Lisa sat with the kids, doing I'm not sure what. Waylon came in with the mail.

"Lisa, our problems are over" there was a smile plastered across his face, this was probably the happiest I'd ever seen him, "I got a job offer"

She seemed as surprised as ever, "Really? That's great"

I had a sinking feeling about the 'job'

"_He never saw it comin_g" A chuckle came with the comment.

"Not now" damn, Waylon looked happy. If only he could have known...

I suddenly found myself in the back of the same silver mini-van I had seen over a week ago. The trunk was taken up by me and a mound of suitcases. The sun had begun to set in the distance, the car itself was filled with sound. Actually the whole family was singing along to something on the radio.

The happy was going to come to a screeching halt, I knew it.

Barely a minute later the car seemed to disappear from around me only to be replaced by a dimly lit office space. Waylon was hunched over a glowing computer screen and obsessively looking over his shoulder. Unable to resist the urge I read what he was typing.

'Don't know you, have to make this quick. They might be monitoring...'

Wait a second. That sounded familiar...

'... terrible things happening here. Don't understand it. Don't believe half the things I saw...'

Shit! that was from the email i had sent to me. Did Waylon write it? That was a stupid question, of course he did! Why the hell didn't he tell me?

I was too distracted- scratch that, too pissed off- to notice the change of scenery.

He's the one who blew the whistle and gave me an excuse to get my marry ass over there and end up in a night of hell. He didn't even have the decency to tell me! I mean, what the hell, that seems like an introduction thing: what, was saying 'hey, I might be the reason you went to Mount Massive in the first place' too awkward for him?

Half way through my rant I realized that I was standing over an imprisoned Waylon. He'd been changed into grimy prisoner cloths and some creepy ass doctor was licking his face.

Serves him right for nearly killing me.

"_Well, it seems like I've rubbed off on you too_"

"The fuck are you talking about now ghost?"

"_Oh nothing, I just think it's funny that you're the one who's skulking around and getting needlessly angry. After all, aren't you usually scolding me for doing that?_"

"Telling me I'm being hypocritical is the last thing you should be doing."

"I_'m not. I'm just pointing out the fact that the more you try to act like we're not one in the same the more you prove that we are._"

"You're not making any damn sense" I wasn't like the Walrider.

"_No? Then why are you ready to bash Waylons head in for something that wasn't his fault? that's something I would have done back when I worked with William._"

"I'm not going to hurt Waylon," I wasn't? "And if you're saying that you've rubbed off on me, then it looks like I've declawed you. It's been a whole 24 hours sense you've said anything about destroying something. Sounds like you've lost your edge" there, we'll see how the damn thing handled a dose of its own medicine.

"_Oh, you've shaped me all right. For the better. Wonton destruction is great, but it's so much more rewarding when it's done slowly. Calculated_."

My insult backfired horribly. Not wanting to carry on the conversation I focused on the feeling of my skin crawling instead.

In an effort to ignore the Walrider I gazed at my new surroundings. They consisted of a grimy wood shop. It was dim, like the rest of the damned asylum, but I could see clear enough. Waylon was out of view, it took a few seconds of inspection for me to notice that he was half conscious and trapped in a locker.

Before I had too long to wonder why, the sound of a struggle broke out to my left. I pivoted to get a clearer view. Instantly I regretted it. On a table less than two feet away from me was a man, or what was left of one at least.

A mutilated torso drenched in it's own rotting fluids occupied the long stained table. What had to have been a head lay there carved in half, a burst eye dripped gelatinous fluids into a bloody hole that could have once been a mouth, graying brain tissue gushed over splintered skull and carpeted what remained of a roughly shaven scalp. As I looked down the body it became infinitely worse, a deep angry gash separated the torso into warring halves. Congealed blood crusted itself on the skin of the man; whatever was still fluid flowed into branching cuts running from the long canyon to less deep, but more deliberate slashes, below the pectoral muscle, curved as if they were outlining a feminine breast.

Looking further it became painfully clear that the body was nude. As my eyes reached below the waist I suddenly wished I hadn't looked at all. Mangled ribbons of muscle and skin hung loosely to the bloodied body, as if the flesh that should be there had been chopped away in a frantic rage.

Using all my willpower to peel my eyes from the grisly spectacle I looked back to the locker and at the half conscious man inside.

Damn me for saying it, but the Walrider was right. Waylon was dealing with his own hell, he didn't need me being an ass to him too. Besides, it didn't matter who gave me a reason to go the asylum, I would have found one on my own eventually.

"_That's awfully big for someone who was considering murder a few minutes ago"_

"shut up, damn it. Besides, you have yourself to thank for that one. If you'd kept quiet I would have made a stupid move, but you talked me down by accident and kept me from sliding down your little slippery slope. Nice job fixing it villain."

There was a noise of contempt "_It doesn't matter if you stop yourself from acting now. because you will act eventually, just like before. Each time it will get easier and easier, until I don't have to say a word. It doesn't matter how awair you are, you'll still slip up..."_

"your hannibal lecture isn't getting you anywhere" it's little speech was ruining my sense of accomplishment.

"_...and when you do it will just bring us that much closer, until there's barely a difference between us…"_

"Knock it off" I had come so close to ending on a high note.

"_... just wait. It will be us against the world"_


	23. 23, Bad to Worse

AN: Hey guys, so things in this chapter escalated quickly. There's not really much gore to worry about but I think I might have broken Waylon. With that said, please enjoy the chapter, and thanks for reading/reviewing.

***Waylon***

I awoke feeling like I'd run a marathon and then been stampeded over by a herd of cattle. My head throbbed in the inky darkness and for a second my body simply refused to move. It'd been too long since I'd slept well, with every time I closed my eyes being plagued by horrible dreams and painful memories.

Fighting against my brain, which begged me to stay laying on the dinky fold out couch, I scraped myself up and sat in the oppressive dark. I couldn't see an inch in front of me and had no idea where the flashlight was.

Great.

"Miles?" he could see in this dark right? That was what he'd been going on about last night, I think.

There was no reply other than the roaring silence.

"...Miles?" he hadn't gone to sleep, had he? No, I don't think he even did that any more.

"Hello?" the only sound in the room was my own echo. The Walrider wasn't out causing havoc, Miles hadn't finally lost it- sitting all alone in here for a few hours- had he? What if that thing was sitting, waiting in the gloom?

I could suddenly hear my heart beating. I became vaguely aware that my breath was ragged and grated against the silence. As much as I didn't want to move it was clear that sitting would do me no good. If I remembered correctly there was an old camping lantern on one of the wire shelves, if I could feel around for it I might be able to get some lights going…

As I stood from the couch the old springs of the fold out bed creaked and groaned, each movement sounded as loud as a gunshot. Just as I creaked towards the edge of the bed there came a sound I hadn't expected or hoped for.

"Waylon? What are you doing?" that was definitely Miles.

"um… looking for a flashlight"

I assumed the worst, standing from the bed. He could have been doing any number of things in the dark, right in front of me, without my knowing. What if Miles had finally cracked? He wasn't very happy last night, what if that was the straw that broke the camel's back?

While I focused on my own paranoic thoughts a beam of light flickered on. Miles stod with the flashlight pointing at the wall, looking none too menacing and not at all like he was in a murderous rage.

I should feel bad, really. For always thinking the worst about him, for second guessing his every move...

I looked again at him through the dark, thinking of the street he flooded with blood, and of the pulverized remains of Jeremy Blair raining down on me.

…but then again, it was better to err on the side of caution.

"So, did you sleep alright?"

"What?" why would he be asking?

"I just mean, you were talking in your sleep"

I'd believe that, but why would that concern Miles…? unless I said something that he wasn't supposed to hear! "Oh really, and what was I saying?"

"Nothing much, just some lyrics to a Patsy Klien song and something about emails…"

Emails? Oh dear god, did he know that I was the one who sent… no, theres no way he could, "Oh, you don't say" how much did he know?

"Ya, it probably wasn't anything major"

If he knew theres no way he'd be talking to me right now, I probably wouldn't be alive "I suppose so."

There was a seconds more hesitation than I was comfortable with before Miles turned the light onto the wire shelves.

"...right. I could have sworn there was a little battery powered lantern over here." he dug through the dusty shelves "here it is."

He turned off the flashlight, plunging the room into darkness, then spent a few seconds turning the lantern on before setting it, lit, onto the floor.

"Great, now we can at east see"

He could see the whole time, and he knew I knew that. Something was obviously off, everything he'd said was to pleasant or guarded, it been a whole conversation without some dry attempt at sarcasm, he had to be hiding something.

"Ya, great" I sat back onto the folded out couch, Miles moved over to the office chair behind the desk. A silence stretched out, thick and heavy. It wasn't broken until Miles asked:

"Can you hand me the leftovers?"

I picked up the styrofoam box, which was cool, and handed it to him. Was he actually hungry, or putting on an act for my benefit? If it was an act it was a bad one, and if it wasn't he seemed forced anyway. What if it was the Walrider? What if Miles was gone and it was trying to act normal?

What if I was just inventing a scenario?

If I was going to man up and clear the air, now was the time to do it. Just me and him, having an honest conversation. What's the worst that could happen?

"So… I have to ask…." how was i going to start this conversation? "are you sure-"

The roar of an opening garage door overwhelmed the words I would have said. Hardly a second later a thud hit the boxes and Chealsy's frantic voice came through the false wall.

"Guys, we have an issue. A really fucking big issue!" she was nearly yelling as the crates moved from their place.

"Good morning and it's nice to see you too" Miles un-enthusiastically greeted her.

"This is serious guys," she slipped halfway through the barrier "we need to disappear now! Murkoff probably knows where we are."

Any good mood Miles may have been in disapeared like fog at high noon. Luckily I responded to her before he did "how did they find us?" I asked while already moving towards the exit.

"My best guess? Somebody saw us while we were out, I drove by the restaurant we ate at last night and it was fucking quarantined, same thing at my apartment."

Miles had yet to move, "are you sure its Murkoff?"

"not at all, but they sure as hell aren't the CDC like everyone thinks they are."

"CDC?" Tim had gotten a call from a supposed agent when we were at his house.

"Is there an echo in here? Yes! The CDC, now lets hurry up and get gone!"

Apparently Miles had come to the same conclusion as I had, because after a seconds hesitation he moved to leave the room as well.

"Ok, so it's going to be pretty obvious that we've flown the coop once they check all of my bug out locations, but it'll take them at least an hour before they find them all, so we've got a bit of a head start…" she went on talking long after I'd stopped listening.

The three of us moved quickly down the halls, eventually coming to the stairs, as we filled down them Chealsy's every word echoed and rang off the metal walls and floor. When we stepped into the deserted lobby the cacophony of her words died out in the open space, though she continued to talk.

"...and even if they find us theres no way they could actually-"

"Jesus christ Chealsy, just shut up already" Miles cut her off.

She looked at him as if he'd slapped her across the face "don't tell me what to do, if I want to talk then I'll talk, I seem to remember that you used to want to listen to me for days on end. Do you remember-"

"Umm, guys" it was my turn to cut her off. Two men had come into the lobby, they were dressed too well to be a couple of people just moving things out of storage and something seemed very stiff about them.

"What now!" Chealsy had worked herself into a fit.

"Miss" one of the men had seen the three of us and started walking over.

"Hello," he continued on "I'm Daniel Larson, from the CDC, I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to leave the building."

Nobody responded. The room seemed to slow down as we looked dumbly at the man. In the time it took for us to not respond a look of recognition spread over Larsons face. He made a grab for a gun that'd been tucked in at his waist. I moved without thinking, towards the door.

Shouting broke out behind me, then a single shot. Flying through the door I took a side glance over my shoulder, Larson was on the ground, the other 'CDC' agent was being flung down next to him by a tackle from Miles.

"Move it Upshur!" Chealsy yelled to him from behind me.

Still moving I reached the car. Chealsy skidded up behind me, followed closely by Miles. All three of us got into the car, in the rearview I saw the two men recovering and leaving from the building.

Peeling out of the lot the rear windshield shattered, the roar of guns rang out.

Chealsy began to yell some idiotic command from the back, not that I needed anyone to tell me to move, the car was already speeding down the road now.

Whipping through the cars that were meandering down the street, I didn't have any time to register where I was going. Every ounce of my focus was spent on not hitting the other cars on the road. I came close to an SUV, side swiped a truck, nearly rear ended a honda.

The only noise from the back seat was Chealsy's yelling.I couldn't make out any words.

The sound of more bullets rang out. These guys were shooting through the traffic? They must be fucking insane!

Over the din of traffic, gunfire, and screams, a single yell was clear as day "Turn left!"

That was Miles. I wrenched the wheel to the side, nearly missing the turn. I had no idea where he thought we were going.

Until I saw the building at the end of the street.

It was Murkoffs corporate headquarters. I slowed the car by a fraction. I had to go there.

"There still behind us!" Chealsy called from the rear seats.

I still slowed down. I had to go inside, this could be my only chance to find Garret and Connor. It was a week later and we still had no idea where they were! Jerking the wheel to the left and through oncoming traffic the car skidded over a curb and crashed into the crowded plaza that lead to the massive skyscraper.

"Holy shit, you're fucking insane!" Chealsy screamed at me.

Not caring about the consequences I jumped from the battered car and made a beeline through the crowd of terrified onlookers to the front doors. Knowing Murkoff it wouldn't be long before some sort of security would show up and make things worse. I made it to the front doors before the screeching of tires entering the plaza sounded. Not turning around to see what had to be 'the CDC' I barreled into the lobby, only to be greeted by a couple of stone cold security guards.

They weren't about to play nice; one made a shot while the other called in a report over his radio. The firsts bullet went wide and missed me by an inch, with adrenaline flooding my system I made a wild run for the inside of the building. Before I rounded the nearest corner another bullet chipped the granite wall to my right. Expecting a bullet to land in my back at any second I only ran faster. No more shots came my way though, there was the noise of shattering glass, then a hail of gunfire from both inside the lobby and out in the plaza. The panicked screams of the guards started not long after.

Not daring to look back I darted down a hallway. The sounds of a massive gunfight grew louder behind me. Knowing that there could be a small army of heavily armed guards in the building I made myself move. The now small wound on my leg began to ache from the motion but I didn't care. They had to have my sons in her somewhere. They had to be here. Right?

Lost in panicked thoughts I didn't notice the armed man in front of me until I ran into his side. With trained reflexes he whipped around, gun at the ready.

"Uh…" ohshitohshitohshit.

Without a word a gun roared in the hallway. The man went down in a yelling heap.

"Fucking shit Park, you nearly got me killed!" it was Chealsy. With a gun.

What.

"Well don't just stand there, obviously there's something goddamned important in here."

Where did she- never mind. I stepped past the writhing guard and continued down the hall, Chealsy followed close behind with the gun still in hand. There had to be some hint as to where they were keeping Connor and Garrett. The halls were winded into a labyrinth of small offices and break rooms. Most have their doors shut and locked. The sound of gunfire was dieing out.

"Is there a plan for your madness, or are we just walking around until something terrible happens?" she sounds pissed. I don't care.

Deep in the heart of the building the near-silent hum of a computer cooling system reverberated through the hall. If I could find a company computer it would take me a second to pull up all the information I needed. Following the sound of machines I lead Chealsy through another three halls before finding a door unlocked. Inside was dark, but it was unmistakably filled with large processors and reeked of chips and red bull. If I had to guess, they probably kept hiring young newly graduated engineers to maintain their computer systems. After all, they were more likely to take the first job they could get and probably weren't prone to blowing the whistle on any shit they saw Murkoff get up to.

Going into the dimmed room I looked past the blinking lights that adorned the shelves and walls. Far in the back of the room a desk top computer shared its space with a dozen nicknacks and figurines. Ignoring the little statues I went to work on the computer.

Chealsy remained at the door and kept watch on the hallway, not that there was any reason to, no one was going to pay attention to an IT room with a full scale invasion going on in the lobby.

Digging through the old computer I tore into the Murkoff main frame, some of the old security override codes still worked. After thirty seconds of my fingers flying over the keys I got into one of the restricted databases. Launch inquiry, keyword: Park.

The screen filled with nearly five dozen files, I set restrictions for files less than a week old, it was reduced to just over forty. there had to be some proof in here, some clue to where they could be…

...intent to falsify birth records, a memo,…

come on, anything.

…Agent Drayer incident reports, orders to dispose of corpses…

What? Orders to dispose of corpses. That had to mean…

I kept looking, there had to be something else.

Near the bottom of the list was a file for transfer paperwork.

There, a transfer, I opened the file.

From: MURKOFF CORPORATE, Salt Lake City, UT.

To: MURKOFF ARD, Zeichner Facility

The transfer of brothers GARRETT and CONNOR PARK from the field offices of agents DRAYER and FIGUEROA to the Zeichner facility are to take place within three days of this correspondence. Minimal restraints are necessary, as the subjects for transfer are eleven (11) and eight (8) years of age, respectively. Upon arrival at the facility it is recommended that they be held in medium to minimal security conditions. Due to the unusual circumstances of our acquiring them, and the currently unknown state of their dispositions any the governing personnel of the Zeichner facility are under no limitations of their actions towards the two new subjects. Let it be noted that this is a preliminary outline of events yet to occur, to view the details of said transfer please refer to attached documents INTENT OF TRANSFER 194560-A and 194560-B (completed by K. DRAYER- DECEASED) , TRANSFER ITINERARY 5270694, ZEICHNER ENTRY FILE 4832976 and 4832077, and INVENTED RATIONALE FOR ENROLLMENT forms 9246208 and 9246209.

NOTE: Due to their non-standard method of acquisition and their largely unplanned enrolment in the facility, it is not imperative that the longevity of the subjects lives be preserved.

I closed the screen.

"It is not imperative that the longevity of the subjects lives be preserved" I repeated the last sentence. Time seemed to slow and I thought I could feel my innards melting into a toxic sludge.

They were fine. They had to be fine. I had too keep looking for them, where the hell was the Zeichner facility? I rapidly typed in the name of the place they would be. Before I hit enter for my new search a shot rang out from the door

"It's time to go!" Chealsy was yelling from the door.

No! I still needed to know more!

` More gun fire came down the hall "damn it Park, if we stay here we'll never get out!" she tried to pull me from the chair. I refused to move, there came yelling and the sound of heavy footfalls from the hall.

"Shit!" Chealsy spun around and let a bout of panic fire loss at the door.

There were hundreds of results about Zeichner from within a week. What were they doing there?

"God damnit! MOVE!" she yanked at the chair under me, forcing the screen from my view.

"But-"

"But nothing!" she pulled at my arm and moved me to the door "It won't fucking matter if you know exactly where your kids are if you're too full of lead to do anything about it."

But I could… damn it she was right. They weren't here and I couldn't do a damn thing. Murkoff would probably kill them because of this break in. If they weren't already dead. The last sentence of the note echoed in my head. I'd failed. I'd failed again, I'm so useless, so goddamn useless! She forced me into the hall; we had to get out, I'd thrown us into a hornets nest, and now we had to get out.

I fumbled down an eerily quiet hall, following Chealsy, who was only a few steps ahead. How the hell were we supposed to get out? I was turned around, had no idea which way we'd already gone. I was just about to follow Chealsy around a corner when a scream that nearly blew my eardrum out burst into the air.

"What the hell is that!" a hail of panic fire reigned through the echoes of Chealsy's words.

Skidding to a stop I nearly hit her back, only stopping to look up at the wall of shifting gray haze occupying the hall. Without a word I grabbed at her shoulder and pulled back around the corner. That way wasn't safe, not at all. The Walrider was on the loos, I should have know that this would happen, but the risk of that thing would have been worth it if I could find Connor and Garret, but now…

"...the fuck was that?" Chealsy sputtered out words to crash my train of thought.

"Probably just Miles" I told her robotically. I had no emotions to spare for my words.

"What?"

I didn't talk back, she knew about the Walrider, she could figure it out, I didn't need to be there to hold her hand, god knows it'd probably break if I tried.

There had to be a way out of this place, someway to get to the streets unseen and to a car. Chealsy followed closely behind me now, still gripping the now empty gun. The hallways stood empty, with doors locked tight, if only the people inside knew that staying there would be a death sentence; I'm sure then they would be out in a panic.

The halls began to look reminiscent of Mount Massive, with wayward smears of blood and puddles of gore lining the walls.

"Holy fuck…" Chealsy sounded like she was losing it behind me, letting loose small chains of quiet swears. Is it bad that this seems more like a bad haunted house attraction than real terror? shouldn't I at least be breathing heavily?

I stepped over a putrefied body, Miles must of been down this way.

Hadn't I been panicked the last time things went like this? Why did I feel so numb? I thought back to the contagious insanity of Mount massive, back to all the horrible shit I saw there: men mutilated into the mockeries of women, people playing basketball with a severed head, blood clothed cannibals stalking me through rotting halls. That should have ruined me, that should have sapped any humanity or sanity I had. Not this, not the slow despair that had been bogging me down since I left that horrible place.

It should have been over…

This bullshit should have been over.

***Miles?***

The whole building reeked of fear and corruption, cleaning it of all the stains pretending to be people would be a public service. Some worm fired a bullet, it did no harm, not even hitting its mark. He was dead where he stood. Not a second later there was nobody left to hit the floor.

This was the building where they had worked, the fools who conceived of Mount massive, some of them were still here. Cowering in their offices on the floors above, running down stairwells in effort to escape.

_...NNNnnn..._

The hallway ahead stood bare, no living man was there. No one could stand in the swarm and live. The hall led to the stairs, a man in an obscenely expensive suit was reduced to pulp and organic rain as he ran from them. The stairs filled with the swarm, the buzz alone could have bust an ear drum. On the second floor stood little more than a graveyard of cubicles, all of them abandoned, some of them newly ownerless. Larger doored offices lined the walls, the few that still contained groveling creatures were redecorated in red. With the floor dead and drowned in its own fluids there was no opposition while traveling down the halls.

_Ssstttt..._

The corridor was lined with doors, some hanig open, a few slammed shut. None of them worth the effort of an investigation, until the a security room drifted into sight. It stood empty, the filth inside having fled long ago. The small room filled with the swarm almost immediately, a few sterile computer screens blaired light through the dark cloud. On them were views of the hall, all empty, all devoid of movement, of anything work while.

Except for one.

A laboratory looking room, not unlike the ones back at Mount Massive, held a single man in a lab coat. He stood hunched over a desk, working frantically at some machine. Did he look familiar? Had he been at the asylum? Before the end? Maybe. Either way anything he knew would be lost before long, there would be no survivors from this place. Moving again down the hall it was not long before the building morphed from gray soulless cubicles to white amoral research halls. The bright lights gave way to the clouded swarm as the room loomed closer.

Leaving one less murkoff slave to pollute the world should be rewarded. By crossing the threshold the frantic man came into clear view. His pathetic life probably flashed before his eyes. As the swarm rushed to him, it suddenly stopped.

The world became heavy.

It felt like I weighed a ton.

I weighed a ton. I stood covered in blood. I suddenly realised that the floor had been smacked against my face. There were bleeding wounds across my body, I hadn't thought I'd been shot. Wait a second.

I'd been shot. I was in Murkoff HQ, what the hell had I done?

Every limb in my body felt like it has been recast in lead, even breathing felt implausible through the heaviness. Without moving my head to look around the room an office worker's foot came into view, it must be the man who was in the lab.

There on the floor it occurred to me, I still had to move, had to do something, get revenge, destroy everything in sight, I couldn't just let this place go on existing. From the floor rage began to surface.

Somewhere in the background I became aware that the man was talking into a radio, or a phone, or maybe even to himself. It didn't matter what exactly, I just knew I had to crush him and get back to destroying this place and punishing everyone inside. Try as I might I couldn't move so much as a pinky finger.

I thought to myself to move, nearly screamed it, there was no reply from my limbs or the Walrider.

The man moved closer, not talking now, something jabbed into my side, the room became covered in a haze that wasn't my doing. There was no time to blackout now, I had things to do. Things I should have been doing from the start. Ruining this place is what I should have done from the beginning. Going to Donalds had been a mistake, Salt Lake should have been my first stop.

The man moved away, the room was more shadow and haze than sterile white lab. I had to get up and move, I had to break something, preferably this mans skull.

My eyelids became too heavy to bear.

No! I had to move, had to get my revenge.

Finally I saw nothing.

_I would have to wait to get my revenge._


	24. 24, Stay Strong

AN: Hey guys, hope ya'll like this chapter it took a bit of thinking to hash out: writing as depressed Waylon is a lot different then writing as paranoid Waylon. Anyhow thanks for keeping up so far, and for reviewing (if you have been).

***Waylon***

The halls were empty of people, both armed and unarmed. Not that I was paying much attention.

Chealsy walked an arms length ahead of me, for once saying nothing. She still held the gun even though it was empty and useless. The whole world seemed quite, there wasn't even the static buzz of Miles and the Walrider that I'd gotten so used to. Where were they? Where were we? It felt like it'd been hours since I crashed the car into the parking lot, what had I been thinking?

One second of stupid though and I'd probably doomed us all. I'd doomed Cannor and Garrett, there was no way some petty bastard at wherever the hell- Zeichner- was just going to leave them alone after this. They were fucked and it was my fault. It was all my fault, I'd-

"Waylon! Shit, i've been talking to you for the last five minutes, you haven't even looked up at me." Chealsy, "we have to get the hell out of here."

It didn't matter anymore, Garrett and Connor were as good as dead "ok"

There was an angry hiss of a sigh "god damn, are you even on the same planet as I am? We're lost, and there are armed men fucking everywhere, and who-the-hell knows what is going on with Miles, and just, shit man. You look like a zombie. At least act like you're worried about dying horribly."

That sounded nice "ok"

She slapped me, hard.

"Wake the fuck up!"

I didn't want to "ok"

She let out some other noise, this one was closer to an angry yell than a hiss, "fine, you want to throw yourself a pity party? Do it on your own time. But right now, we need to get out."

She started walking again, I followed.

I wasn't having a pity party, I didn't deserve one.

The sting from her slap barely made an impact. Was I just ignoring the pain, or had my nerves just given up like the rest of me? We passed up a sign for a fire exit.

"Chealsy" she turned around and followed me down the hall marked by the red sign. Good to know that I was still good for running away, it was something I'd never failed at.

We passed a blood stain on the wall that used to be a person. Had I really survived a place filled with this? I couldn't even guess as to how. I probably just ran away. Ran away from everything.

Chealsy went out a steel door at the end of the hall. We were outside, in some ally. Really? escaping from some hive like that was this easy? Why was mount massive so terrible?

"Finally" she said under her breath.

Finally what? We were finally free to wait for Murkoff to find us? Free to wait for them to catch up? Free to lie down and die?

"Lets get gone" she continued saying before walking off.

I followed, no one seemed to notice the two of us leaving the little ally, with everyone focusing on the front of the building that was now covered in squad cars and firetrucks. That was nice, I suppose. Chealsy and I moved down the street, the flow of traffic stood at a dead stop, not that it mattered much. We walked on for some time.

Eventually we came to a bus stop, Chealsy sat at the little bench there. Wasn't a place like this really obvious?

I took a look up and down the city street.

It didn't matter, no one was looking for us, they were probably still all busy dealing with the-

"We forgot miles" I suddenly realised

Chealsy slumped in her seat, "he's a big boy. He can take care of himself"

She sounded very unsure of herself.

Before too much time went by to think about anything a city bus pulled up. We walked on, Chealsy had just enough change to pay the fair. Without a word we took two seats near the back. time passed in a haze as the bus drove on. The buss had started and jerked to sudden stops more times than I cared to count before:

"Don't just sit there, come on" Chealsy stood from her seat and urged me to do the same.

I did, not that I wanted to. What the hell was the point? My kids were as good as dead now, we'd lost Miles, Chealsy looked like she'd gone into shock. There was no point in fighting any more. We'de failed and there was no one to blame but me.

The street we stepped onto was dark, we stood in some shady neighborhood. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get murdered by random street crime. That'd be nice, getting put out of my misery. Sadly no such luxury happened as the two of us moved to a near by pay phone.

Payphone? I hadn't realised that those still existed. Chealsy dialed some number, her fingers shook like leaves in late autumn.

"Don't talk back, shits gone down. We lost Miles, Salt Lake isn't safe anymore. Still come state side. Call you later."

She hung up the phone with a weak click. Then started walking without saying a word. I followed.

Half the street lamps were out, leaving us to walk in shadows. Not that it mattered, there wasn't another living soul in sight. Only a short time later Chealsy stopped again, slumped against a wall and doubled over to catch her breath. With my luck she probably was in some sort of shock.

"Where are we even going?" I wondered out loud, not really expecting her to reply.

"What?" she said between overdrawn breaths.

"Where are we going?" I said again the the empty road.

"Fucking shit, I don't know Waylon. I don't see you making any plans, you've barely said a damn word. I'm tired of thinking, so why don't you figure something out instead of just standing there!"

I don't know why I even bothered talking, there was nothing we should do, nothing we could do. Despite knowing that I felt myself say something,

"The Zeichner Facility, do you know where it is?"

Why was I bringing that up? if we went there all we would find were dead bodies and more misery. Why do I keep putting myself through hell?

"... I saw it on a file once, California. I think. Why?"

California, that was so far. There was no way we could reach it, not like this, alone, penniless, carless.

"We have to go there" no we didn't. I shouldn't be going anywhere. If anything I should be laying in the gutter and waiting to die.

"Why, was it in one of the files you read? Whats going on there?" she started scrambling through the pockets of the coat she was wearing.

"I don't know anything other than the fact that Connor and Garrett were there"

She had produced a small note pad from some pocket and started flipping through the pages. Most of which were covered in a messy scrawl that I couldn't even begin to try reading. Eventually she stopped at a page that was only half filled.

"You said Zeichner, right?"

What else could I have said "yes"

He read and reread the little page in front of her "Waylon we have a lead."

Was she smiling? What the hell was wrong with her? What was wrong with me? Why had I brought the place up, I'd been correct back in the asylum, when I thought that the place should have just been left to fester and die.

Chealsy continued talking "it was on one of the files from your camera, right near the end, and it was something juicy…" she began reading of the little page " 'three bling dreamers, no names given. Were transported to Zeichner facility, with a higher security clearance than that of project wallrider. Few details, only that its something big and something very classified." She looked back up from what had to be her notes, "it sounds like they're still up to their same old shit. Care to go expose it?"

No. Not at all "why not."

I'm not sure why I gave what was close enough to a yes for Chealsy to accept. It was against every one of my wishes, but for whatever reason I followed her down the dark street. It didn't matter that I knew things were going to end badly, I had nothing else to do. Chealsy wasn't about to just let me sit down and die, no matter how tempting it was. No matter how painful things got, I just didn't have the chance to end them.

If only Lisa were here, if only I hadn't sealed my sons fates, if only I still had a reason to keep going.

"Hey" I took a slow look up "you going to just stand there, or are you getting in?"

She sat at just below eye level, in a small SUV. when had she gotten in there?

Still in my daze I got into the passenger side, keeping up my huge amount of usefulness I watched as she hotwired the car and started the ignition, again without my help. Looks like I was even more useless now.

She didn't say anything as we drove down the deserted street and I wasn't about to start a conversation.

We were westward bound, going off to face who the hell knew what. There wasn't even a reason anymore. Murkoff was still hurting people, sure, but the old indignation at the though, the sympathy for the people they hurt, the feelings. They just didn't come back the way they should.

Murkoff had won, they'd run me into the ground and destroyed everything that mattered. They won and I just couldn't care anymore.

I Just couldn't care anymore.

***Miles?***

_It was very dark. At least three men moved around us, saying... something._

_Saying "...shit, what did you do? This guy was tearing up the place."_

_"EMP emitter, and some other things I can't talk about, just get him locked down tight, inject 100 cc's of clozapine every half hour, force it in, I don't care how. Blast and EMP pulse every fifteen minutes, and- this is where it gets weird, but bear with me- make sure that there is an uninterrupted ring of salt around him at all times. Clear?"_

_"Yes sir"_

_"Good. Now, I have calls to make"_

_It was very dark, and at least one of them knew what he was doing._


	25. 25, Wide Awake

AN: Hello, here's chapter 25. To answer a question from the reviews, this fic will not get to 50 chapters. That's not to say it'll end in like the next two chapters, but I have a very good idea of how I'm going to finish it, and the end is nigh (sorry guys). On that note, I will still be updating regularly and please enjoy.

***Waylon***

Sunlight drifted lazily through the curtains, landing lightly on the pillows and sheets around me. My bedroom didn't have many furnishings, but Lisa lie next to me so it was enough. Not wanting to move, but needing to get my surprise ready, I slid out from the warm covers and out of the room.

Our apartment was small, and I had to keep quiet as plausible as not to wake up the boys. After all, I don't think all the birthday presents in the world could make up for accidentally upsetting Garrett, or getting Connor overly enthusiastic for the day and giving Lisa a rude awakening. Walking into the tiny kitchen from the hall I –as quietly as plausible- pulled out a couple of pans and set them to heat on the stove top. It's been too long since I'd done something nice for Lisa, she was always working so hard, it was time I repaid her with good deed.

Once I sent a couple of eggs crackling into the pan along with a few strips of bacon I began to pull plates and mugs from the cupboard. Between flipping the food and collecting silverware I started a pot of coffee, it wouldn't be long until everything was ready and Lisa liked her coffee burning hot.

After I scooped now ready eggs and bacon onto a waiting plate, poured glass of orange juice, and readied the coffee with two scoops of sugar, I loaded all of the plates and cutlery onto a baking sheet that would have to work as a serving board.

Leaving the food in the kitchen I tiptoed back to the boys room, I'd have to wake them and hopefully not have them run off right away. Opening the door I gently shook Garrett awake, he was barely old enough to walk and had only left his crib couple of months ago.

"Upsy-daisy Garrett, we're going to go surprise mom."

He protested a bit before sleepily sitting up on the edge of the bed.

Quickly I woke up Connor, he wouldn't be tired for long, it seemed like he had enough energy for the two of them.

Before he woke up completely I went back to the kitchen to grab the breakfast I'd made. Not even ten seconds later I was back in the hall where Connor was already standing.

"Ok you two, be very quiet until we go into the bedroom, ok?"

Garrett sleepily grabbed at my shirt to keep himself upright while Connor shook his head like a little maraca. Knowing that that was as much of an agreement that I was going to get out of the two I nudged the door open and the three of us walked entered the bedroom.

Lisa still lie sleeping on the bed, looking as peaceful as anything.

Until Connor put two and two together with me holding a tray and us giving lisa breakfast in bed.

"Happy birthday mom!"

She woke with a little start, not even having the chance to move before Connor jumped up onto the bed and next to her.

"Happy birthday Lisa" I said from the door. Garrett didn't say anything, instead deciding to cling to my shirt tails.

From under a tight hug from Connor Lisa gave a very sleepy, but very happy "good morning" before turning to talk to Connor.

In the warm morning light I moved from the door to the bedside to set the tray of food down over Lisa's lap. It was going to be a great day. Maybe the four of us would go to the park, it was supposed to be sunny like this for the rest of the afternoon.

It was so bright that when I looked out the window the sun stung at my eyes.

When I opened them an empty stretch of shining desert greeted me, even through the tinted windows the light was near unbearable.

Using all the effort I could muster I sat myself upright in the chair. Missing desperately my warm dream, the crushing reality of my situation bored down on me.

Lisa was dead, I didn't have a home, Connor and Garret were probably dead- or worse. There weren't anymore breakfasts in bed, there weren't anymore birthday morning surprise. There weren't any more happy moments to be had.

I sat in the passenger side of the car Chealsy stole from that dark street.

"Where are we now?" Still Utah? Nevada? California? It didn't matter

Chealsy took a second longer to respond then I had expected, "Oh, sleeping beauty's finally awake" she did not sound amused "how was your nap?"

I remember the pleasantness of my dream, it was the first one I'd had that didn't make me suicidal in weeks. "fine"

"Good, so you're fit to drive." She pulled the car over and without hesitation and left the driver side door wide open while she walked to the passenger side.

I didn't want to drive. I got out of the chair and left the car. The heat was immediate, seemingly sapping all the energy I didn't have from every crevice in my body. If I didn't know better I'd make some drawn out analogy about the heat being symbolic or something, but I was not in the mood. Instead I obliged and walked to the driverside of the car. Without complaining I slumped into the drivers seat.

"Where are we?" I asked again

"Somewhere in the middle of the Mojave, I don't know, just keep going west until we hit the coast, we can figure things out from there." She still sounded agitated.

What had I done now?

"One more thing, don't talk to me when we're in the car ok?"

"Ok" what would I have to talk about.

"But stop with your one word answers, their fucking annoying"

"Ok"

"I said no one worders, if you're going to talk, then talk"

"I'm sorry" didn't she say she didn't want to talk?

"And stop apologizing. What do you think you even did anyways?"

"Nothing"

"Bull shit, somethings wrong."

I could have sworn she said she didn't want to talk.

"Hello? I'm talking to you, there's no reason to be rude."

I didn't need her on my case too "I thought you didn't want to talk"

"We'll I do know. I can change my mind you know" she huffed back into the seat. Stealing a glance to my right I saw that she seemed worn and tired, how long had I been asleep?

She kept on speaking "speaking of changing minds, why don't you at least act like you're not suicidal? I don't see why you throwing such a bitch fit anyways. We just lost Miles, it's not like you saw a bloody murder. Well, not one of someone we actually cared about."

She shouldn't talk about things she didn't know.

"What was that?"

I must have muttered my thoughts under my breath. "I said" I actually gained some fore to my voice, to our mutual surprise "You shouldn't talk about things you don't know about"

"what the hell is that supposed to mean?" now she seemed offended.

Fine let her be, I didn't want to talk about this anymore.

"Waylon, don't go all silent on me, I'm not in the mood to put up with you bull shit."

My bull shit? "but I have to deal with yours"

"Excuse me?" dear god, why had I opened my stupid mouth? "my bull shit? I haven't been doing anything but helping you and Miles with you little revenge quest since the two of you showed up in my town, looking for my help. So don't act like I've done the opposite"

Defeated I told her "just don't talk about what happened at Murkoff HQ"

"Why? Because it makes you sad? Well buck the fuck up! We have shit to do, and whether we like it or not we're doing it. Besides, the last time I talked to you you said that your only purpose in life was watching Murkoff burn, what made you give up on that?" she didn't know what she said, I had to remember that "Nevermind, I guess your just such a weak person that it doesn't matter,"

Enough of this. I wasn't going to rise to her bate of an argument, but she should know how shitty she was acting "their dead"

"What?" she didn't want to listen, too bad.

"They killed cCnnor and Garrett. Enrolled them in some experiment. Their dead. Or worse."

She twitched a bit. Good, let her realize how terrible she sounded. "then don't give up. Damn, if anything you should be pissed." She knew she was in the wrong for talking now, but she just didn't give up.

"It doesn't matter"

"So you're just going to give up" she was getting upset again "all the shit you've gone through already just doesn't matter?" she gave me a hard stare.

Fine, let her judge me. She didn't understand, couldn't understand.

"Shit Waylon, your weaker than I thought you were. So much for you little crusade against Murkoff. You're just a damned coward."

She fell silent. I didn't talk back. She could have the last word, it didn't matter, she was right anyways. I was a coward, but at least I wasn't deluding myself. At least I wasn't pretending that there was still any hope.

***Miles***

_After some days of nothing there was finally something. They moved us. That much became clear when the circle was broken. Unfortunately there was no time to do anything about it. The swarm was immobile from their ridiculous EMP's. The body was in no condition to move, being weighted down by tiny balls of machine._

_How much easier things would be if this were like the old days._

**Wwww...**

_What was that?_

**Why don't you...**

_One more time, I didn't catch that._

**Why don't you shut the hell up, I'm still me damn it.**

_Its about time you said something, I was almost worried._

**Sure you were, bastard...**

_You sound tired, maybe you should rest__**.**_

**And let you run the place? I don't think so.**

_Shh, we're not doing anything now. Not yet._

**Bull shit.**

_Truly, we're not. But I'm sure that that will change soon._


	26. 26, California

AN: Happy Friday everyone, here's chapter 26. Thanks for keeping up with the story so far, extra thank-yous to everyone who has reviewed. Without further ado, please enjoy the chapter.

***Waylon***

The coastline shimmered in the distance.

I'm not sure how long I'd been the driver for, I knew only that the sun had set and risen while I was behind the wheel, that Chealsy had had enough time to sleep and wake up. She still wasn't talking to me, though I hadn't been getting hateful glances like before. Maybe she was sorry for acting the way she did, maybe she just didn't want to admit that she was wrong. It didn't matter either way, but I could at least give her the benefit of the doubt.

The car came to a rolling stop on the side of some highway. I hadn't hit the brakes.

"It's out of gas" I told no one in particular.

"Shit" Chealsy got out of the passenger side and went around to the back of the car.

Having no idea what she was doing I got out as well, as I walked around the back she came into view. She was doing nothing in particular besides glaring at the car. Had she broken? Was less than one hour of fearing for her life and nearly dieing too much? I should be offended that she cracked so easily while I was forced to keep going.

But I wasn't. I simply stared at her without saying a word.

"Of all the damn things... " she went off muttering to herself.

I sat back in the driver seat, standing out in the sun wasn't going to do anything. While I was dimly aware that of a thump that was probably Chealsy kicking a tire I took a look across the water. The sun reflected off its moving surface, giving the look of polished steels or molten glass. If I were to jump into the water how long would it take to drown? Back at the asylum I had written notes for lisa to find should I die. Hadn't I said that suicides seemed wise? In the seat my mind seemed to buzz with ideas.

Oh wait. No, that vibration was from an engine. There were a couple of voices coming from behind the car.

"Hey there little lady, you in need of some help?" whoever was talking had an unusually thick southern drawl to be in California.

"And they say chivalry is dead" Chelsey spoke up as the rumble of a truck engine cut off "I was just having some car trouble"

"Well I bet I can help with that" a door opened and slammed shut. Leave it to Chealsy to get some schmuck to help her out on the side of the road.

"Great, I think I just ran out of gas but-" she kept on talking, I stopped listening. She was probably just going to hitch a ride to some gas station then disappear, leaving me abandoned out here. Seemed like something she'd do.

The slow waves reflected twinkling light at me again. It would be pretty easy, I could just walk in and float off. I could just drift away, forgotten. The quiet rumble of the waves was already drowning the words from Chealsys conversation. She was probably going to vanish any moment now. That might make things easier, having no one to stop me. I could hear foot falls, she was probably walking away now.

There was the thud of a door, any moment now and the engine would start. Any second and-

"Shit!" that wasn't the noise of an engine.

After forcing myself to move from the drivers seat I walked to the back of the car. There was definitely a man there, two of them actually, and neither seemed to be very helpful.

"Hank! Theres a guy there!" one of them shouted to the other.

The man who yelled had Chealsy pinned to the ground despite her struggles and a stream of swears.

"I'm on it" the shorter of the two picked himself up from the ground. As he walked towards me brandishing a pocket knife the only thought running through me head was a question about how he'd ended up of the ground.

He was less than four feet from me.

"Move god damn it! Do something!" Chealsy was yelling from the ground again.

Less than a second away, I wonder how much it would hurt if I just stood still.

"uhh Mike? he ain't moving" he stopped about foot in front of me.

why'd he stop?

"So! Just hurry up so we can have some fun with our lady friend'

"I don't know, he's kinda freaking me out." Hank- I guess that was his name- was just standing there.

"Shit Waylon! Move!" Chelsea kicked up at Mike, landing a knee in his gut.

He was knocked off center just enough for her to escape from under him. Hank was quick to react, turning around and lunging toward Chealsy before I realised what was going on. Some how I reacted to him just as quickly, reaching out a hand to grab the collar of his shirt before he moved to far. He seemed just as surprised by my movement as I was. In more of a blind flail than anything he swung out with the pocket knife, slicing an inch into my upper arm.

Why was I doing this? Why didn't I just give up!?

I didn't have long to think about what I'd done; Hank was recovering from the grab; getting ready to do some real damage. I found myself backing away, getting ready to run. Just before I decided to bolt an arm reached around Hanks neck. His hands went to the thin arm that crushed the air from his lungs.

Chealsy struggled to keep hold, bobbing back and forth trying to avoid his swinging arms.

"Fucking do something!"

I felt the adrenaline pumping, my limbs started to move without consulting my brain. I took a few steps closer and -for the second time in my life- I took a hard swing at a man. My knuckles crunched against Hanks jaw, but I'd done my job and distracted him from grabbing at Chealsy long enough for the lack of oxygen to stop him.

"It's about damn time you did something." Chealsy gave a rough sigh as she turned to look back at the truck the two men had arrived in.

Ya, right, about time.

Taking her walking as a sign I too went to the truck. As we got closer Chealsy stopped to look down at Mike, who was scraping himself off the pavement.

Chealsy was having none of that and landed a swift kick to the side of his head, muttering that he was a "slimy bastard".

He didn't move after that.

I didn't stop for him, instead I opted to climb into the passenger seat while Chealsy took the wheel. With a turn of the keys the engine roared back to life. Chealsy pulled the unwieldy truck from the side of the road and back into the lane, leaving the men to find their own ride.

It looked like we were back in business. Although I didn't know where she was driving to, I had a sinking feeling that we were going to end up at Zeichner facility, that Murkoff was going to go about and make things somewho worse, that…

...I don't even know anymore.

***Miles***

The other half has been resting a lot lately. Even now, on our way into some facility he laid quiet. The lack of his banter bored me. While he wasn't essential, it had been too long of a time sense skin had felt so natural.

William had been a poor fit. Too young, too insecure. Broken minds are boring to shape, they just fall apart after every little thing. I need a mind who had witnessed true terror, and who understood what they'd seen, mad men who don't know fear could never hope to help me spread it. Besides his mind his body couldn't contain me, he needed some damned machines to support himself and me. Weak.

Those times in the late nineteen hundreds were a bore, the years Warnicke kept me sealed away, only letting me out to rebuild my power with the machine. Practice on useless, pampered people with no real knowledge of fear. They were pathetic.

Before that there were the unfortunates at the camps. That was too structured. Warnicke didn't have the technology then to contain me, and the people there were the walking dead. The true knowledge of terror was there, but they didn't have enough to support themselves, how could anyone have expected them to house me as well?

Warnicke himself nearly worked, but his mind was too analytical to crack, to set in it's arrogant ways to be of any use. Looking back, erasing his conscience would have been a service.

The people long before then- they all blend together- hardly ever suited me. A few came and went, but always managed to get themselves killed. Before I merged with the machines healing was quite difficult, but now it was a fast process. All the injuries from three days ago were already healed.

No, Miles was worth keeping around. He was just right. A curious mind, able to accept the strange, but resolute enough to chase after the truth. Exposed to a natural horror, not some man made and controlled experiment, but true danger, with no overseer or puppet master. His body fit as well, not deteriorating like so many seem to.

He was just right.

**Did you say something?**

... and nothing gets past him either.

***Waylon***

"Great, meet you there. In the mean time I have some work to" Chealsy hung up the phone and handed it back to the young man she borrowed it from.

"Thanks for the borrow." she said as a simple dismissal to the guy.

"Sure thing" he mumbled before walking off. I couldn't help but notice him taking a peek over his shoulders as he walked away.

We stood in the public library of some California city, we'd taken our seats at a row of computers. Turns out that free internet was kind of a huge deal when you wanted to covertly look up an evil megacorporation. The place was near dead, with the one guy chealsy borrowed the phone from being the only living soul in sight.

"Not that you're going to be a massive help or anything but…"

It seemed that after the incident on the side of the road that Chealsy had given up on trying to get me to respond or react to anything. Ever since we'd gotten here the only thing that we'd done was research on Murkoff, most of which either me or her already knew. There were a few things that sounded new, but it wasn't enough to matter.

"...ok nevermind then." apparently I hadn't done whatever she was telling me to. Oh well.

In response to my apathy Chealsy threw herself back in her seat with a heavy sigh.

"I just dont get it!" she said into the air.

I took the bait. "Get what?"

"Why! Why the hell would Murkoff burn millions of dollars on Mount Massive? What were they going to get out of it?"

"A profit" obviously.

"No shit sherlock, but how? I mean sure, they made the Walrider- I think. But how the hell were they expecting to make a buck off of it?"

That was actually a great question, I didn't have the answer. It would have been something worth considering, but now it didn't seem that important. They were stupidly evil and out to make a buck, it didn't matter how poorly thought out their methods were, everyone I loved was dead because of them.

After I failed to make a comment Chealsy continued "you're a great help. At least humor me, I think better when somebody talks back."

"ok" she'd been doing this every fifteen minutes or so.

"It just seems like we have a ton of little pieces, but no string to hold them together, you know?"

"Ya I think you're right" this would be an autopilot conversation on my end.

"Like, why go through all the trouble of unearthing ancient scientists to recreate a murder ghost? How could they possible make money off of that? Then there's the fact that they tortured all those inmates. Why? How did that help with their ultimate goal? How do you make money off of that?

"It would make sense for them to weaponize the walrider, but Murkoff would have no outlet for that. I mean they even contract out their own security, they would have no need for a super weapon. It doesn't look like there would be any medical outlet for the Walrider. That's what they deal in. Medicine."

"You're right".

Murkoff, medicine for the body, medicine for the mind. that was their corporate slogan and it was the biggest piece of shit lie I'd ever heard.

"It's not like the Walrider is some sort of crazy medical robot. It looked like they were trying to spin it that way, but it took a stadium sized machine just to keep one host alive, there's no way to fix that. And it caused freakin lethal ghost fetus's. The medical theorie's bull shit."

"That's a good point." but what about…

"And that brings me to Miles. How the hell does he fit into this? What, he just strolls in, gets himself infected with Walrider mojo and is magically perfectly suited to it? Even assuming that the medical theory was true it makes no sense for it to work on Miles and absolutely nobody else. The head brass at Murkoff isn't stupid, if they really thought even for a second that the risk outweighed the benefit they'd pull the plug. Why was project Walrider still standing after it clearly wasn't working?"

"That's a great question" They thought they could make a buck, its that simple.

"Where do the three blind dreamers fit into this? They were talked about in one of the files and they sound like they were part of some creepy-ass experiment just like the Walrider, how they could have turned a profit off of that one?"

"I don't know"

"Shit, can't you say anything useful?"

And here she went dissolving into a rant against me, again. I was starting to think that this was some sort of defence mechanism. I hadn't talked back sense the desert, it wasn't worth getting her worked up.

"This is just such bullshit. We have half the pieces, but none of them fit together. We can't just out Murkoff like this. Without motive they can just chalk up anything we say or show about them as being a terrible accident. Are you even listening to me!? This fucking matters, if you don't buck the hell up everyone would have died in vain."

"They already have."

She gave me a look that I wished had killed me.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that"

Of course she would. It wasn't like anybody else had.


	27. 27, Interviews and Interrogations

AN: I don't know about ya'll but I've been missing Miles, the good new is that he's back (so yay. Not that ya'll couldn't tell, what with POV header being a few inches away from these very words). Anyhow, enjoy the chapter and thanks for reading.

***Miles***

I remembered everything and I was pissed. I didn't want to be, but I felt like bashing in someones head. Between thoughts of revenge details of my surroundings slowly trickled in.

The room around me was somewhere between a doctors office and an interrogation room, being a stark white, having a wall that was clearly a one way mirror, and containing little more than me, two chairs, a table, a video camera, and a man sitting across from me.

The man didn't move a muscle, just sitting there staring at me instead. As I tried to move, either towards or away from him- I'm not sure which, I realised that my limbs might as well me cast in lead for as heavy as they were.

Looking I saw that my hands were cuffed to the chair, not immobilized, just cuffed. There was the odd whir of a machine that had escaped my notice, being behind me, and angled down. And... was that a ring of salt on the floor?

"Miles Upshur, correct?"

I looked back up, barely remembering that a man was in the room. He was dressed in a white lab coat and seemed like he was in character as 'boring lab tech no. 593'

"Can you speak?"

No, I'm a silent protagonist in some bad video game, "yes"

"Good, please state your name and date of birth."

Sure, because i'm just such a cooperative person "No"

"Mr. Upshur, if that is your name, if you don't cooperate with me we will be forced to-"

"What? Shoot me? Because thats always worked so well."

He let out a suppressed sigh, I considered the most efficient way to kill him and escape "Do you know where you are?"

Probably some Murkoff facility, could be a hospital, another asylum, or a damn warehouse for all I knew. Shouldn't the Walrider have chimed in with some implausible information or something? I could really use things getting spooky to my advantage right now.

"No" I'd let him feed me information for now.

"As I thought. Mr. Upshur, what was your level of involvement regarding the events at Mount Massive in Colorado?"

Oh he knew full well what happened there. This was probably just checking to see if I was lying through my teeth. "You'll have to be more specific." I wasn't giving out any more information than I had to.

The man stopped, looked pensive for a second, then continued talking. Did he have some sort of an ear bud on?

"We know that you came there looking to expose the events that transpired there. We know that the Walrider escaped, and we know you are its host"

Lookslike the lab techs boss was going for the direct approach.

That was my cue to start messing with their heads "then how do you know that you're even talking to Miles?"

"Mr. Upshur, this is hardly the time to start playing mind games"

Speaking of mind games, it sure would be great if the Walrider decided to chime in.

Apparently I'd taken to long to talk back for his liking because he angrily told me "If you're not going respond then theres no point in continuing this interview."

Interview? "I was under the impression that this was an interrogation"

He gave me a narrow eyed look before quickly leaving the room.

What the hell was that about? I hadn't even threatened to do anything. I was now alone in the room, though I had the sneaking suspicion that there were more than a few people behind the glass watching me. Looking back at my surrounding I tried to get a closer look at the machine behind me.

Moving wasn't easy, and about all I could tell was that it wasn't making any contact with me and was about a foot away from the ring of salt.

Again i thought of the salt . Why the hell was it there?

For once I wished I could ask the walrider. I knew it was still there, I could feel the weight of it in the back of my mind, but for whatever reason it seemed to be behind a thin wall and out of reach.

The door opened again, this time it was a different man in a lab coat and a couple of people dressed in what looked like biohazard equipment. The suits started to move the table and other chair out of the room.

"Don't tell me you're kicking me out so soon. I only just got here"

The lab coat ignored me, instead deciding to bark out orders at the suits.

"Make sure that that ring isn't broke, establish a second parameter that reaches to the wall. no mistakes."

"Hey doc -if you're even a doctor- if everyone keeps ignoring me I might start to think that I'm unwanted."

He shot me a grave look from underneath a couple of caterpillar sized eyebrows. Suddenly my hands ached at a memory and I desperately hopped that he wasn't a doctor.

"Theres a solid ring sir" one of the suits reported.

"Good, set up the other EMP fields, I want this room locked down."

So thats what the machine behind me was. "shutting down the nanobots are we?"

scowled again, it seems like that's his default method of communication.

The suits scrambled in and out of the room hauling pod shaped mechanisms. One was set up in each corner of the room, outside of the salt ring. What was the salt for?

"The field generators are in place and fully functional sir." a suit reported in again.

"Good, gather the testing implements, disable the primary field."

Damn did he sould like every word he said came from a sci-fi screenplay. The two suits set to work, one switching off the machine behind me, the other carrying in a folding table. In a matter of seconds they had the little table filled with tons of fun looking toys. The thing was covered scalpels, needles, scarily labeled beakers, shady looking flasks, scissors, hammers, foresepts, a handgun, plants of unknown origin, and god knows what else.

looking at the line up I felt panic bubbling up. My arms felt just light enough to move; I spared no time in yanking against the cuffs. I wasn't about to sit quietly and take a round of torture.

The doctor pulled a tape recorder from some pocket.

"Subject: Miles Upshur.

Immediately following a fruitless interview the subject was prepped for experimentation"

This was going to shit much too quickly for my liking. The chains weren't about to give and the Walrider seemed like it was out to lunch. In what was now full blown panic I realised that little threads of the swarm were seeping out from under my skin.

Ha! Suck on that you scowling sociopath!

"The subject appears to be capable of wielding the swarm in a limited manner"

I'll show this bastard 'limited'. Even without the walrider yelling in my ear the swarm was picking up speed. One deep breath to calm myself down a bit was all it took to take the swarm under control. The dark clouded around me in stark contrast with the sterile white of the room. It wouldn't be long before I wiped the floor with his arrogant face. With all the ill intent in the world the swarm lashed out at the man.

And stopped.

The cloud screeched to a halt and flattened, as if it hit a solid wall. What the hell was that about?

"The ring of salt suggested in the mythology appears to serve as an effective barrier." he talked into that damn recorder.

"Salt?!"

"The subject appears to have been unaware of this limitation"

The Walrider could tear a person in half, screw up my body and read freakin' minds, but was stopped by table salt?! That's something I should have know about. With my concentration broken the majority of the swarm had retreated back into me.

The doctor had a smug expression painted on his face, "now" he set the recorder on the table and picked up the handgun to replace it.

"I will proceed with the first test: Subjects Reaction to Major Injuries"

He leveled the hand gun at me.

Oh shit.

***Waylon***

We'd Been in town for two days, there'd been two on the road, and one sense Chealsy's contact told her he'd be here in a week. That left only two until he made an appearance and Chealsy was still talking about only having half the clues. We sat in front of some small diner, Chealsy had nabbed some poor saps wallet. I'd come to notice that she sure did have considerable thieving skills. I wonder if Miles ever stooped to tricks like that. Not that it mattered, he was probably dead too.

"Alright, listen up" she was talking to me, had I just drifted off again? "We've got a day and a half before Micky shows up and we have to get all the shit we can out to the public. I've still got your camera, I just need to type up a kickass story, and… you know what would be a huge kick in the teeth to Murkoff?"

An actual kick in the teeth?

"If we posted an interview of you. I mean you already look like shit, and if we suddenly put a face to all the shit on the camera I'm pretty sure that mainstream media would explode with sympathy."

Every organ in my body squirmed from its place as if they were all fighting to tell me not to relive the asylum, as if every tiny fibre of myself was screaming an objection to that interview.

Ignoring what I was telling myself I replied with a simple "fine". After all I'd spend this much time ignoring my better judgement, why stop now?

"Hell ya, Waylon it sounds like you finally getting back into the swing of things. The camera says it has an hour of battery life left, thats long enough for an interview." she nearly bounced out her seat from the sheer force of her eitment. "lets go find a nice backdrop."

Before waiting to hear my reply she began to strut of down the street, like a dog beaten into blind obedience I followed her. She'd been having mood swings extreme enough for me to suspect that the incident back in Salt Lake knocked a few more screws loose than I'd first thought. A quarter of the time she seemed ready to rip my head off then she'd decide to be my best and closest friend. That was assuming of course that she wasn't conning some fool for money, or manically digging through public record for information on Murkoff and the Zeichner facility.

"This looks good enough"

She come to a stop at the threshold of some dingy little alley off an empty street.

"...yep this'll do perfectly, no foot traffic, you can't hear the ocean, no identifying signs, this could be any ally from anywhere in America, now way for Murkoff to tell that we're in California, and less than one car driveway from Zeichner."

She was talking more to herself than anything. I didn't dare respond, for fear that I might accidentally gain her attention and start a conversation of actual meaning.

"Go lean against that wall"

I did.

"No, not like that, pick a leg up"

I lifted a foot off the ground, mildly confused, but otherwise not interested.

"No, not like that, I mean have a foot against the wall, like that stereotypical bad boy pose, or like a cowboy leaning against a post. You know the one, so that one knee is raised slightly."

I obliged her, letting my left foot push against the concrete wall the I was already slumped against.

"There you go, now cross your arms. And stop looking so damn defeated all the time… On second thought act that shit up. If you look like a sad sack the sympathy will start rolling in waves."

No need to adjust for that.

"Ok, so I need you to respond with whatever sounds better. Really sell the story you know? Remember what we talked about in the car back in Salt Lake City? ya, do that."

By what she talked about she means. 'Be a man on a mission to save his family' that's what the idea had been. I wasn't anything but a shattered reflection of that idea now.

Barely sparing a thought towards it I looked to the camera that Chealsy had held in her hand.

"We're recording. Go ahead and introduce yourself,"

"I'm Waylon Park" I could feel my own lack of motivation.

I earned a glare from behind the lense.

"Ok, Mister park, tell us what you've been through"

I couldn't see the abandoned ally anymore. The halls of Mount Massive surrounded me. The halls flooded with blood and viscera, the halls housing nothing but the damned and the damning. In the back of my mind the raving growls of lunatics and the needle like buzz of saws drown out the words coming from my own mouth.

"I've been through hell."

"Yes, as we've all seen from the footage from the camcorder. Now, you used to work for the Murkoff corporation. Why did you take the job, and why did you first decide to blow the whistle on them?"

This is where she wanted the heroics, the bravery. A rebel with a cause routine. This is where she wouldn't get one. "My wife and children… we were on the verge of eviction. There was no hope for us. Then I got a job offer."

I had to stop for a second. The day I'd walked in with that 'merical' letter from the mail had seemed like one of the best in my life. How stupid I'd been! This was my fault, I should have know, I couldn't have know. I had to have… I should have done something. Anything. I…

"I've always heard that hindsight was twenty twenty" I said mostly to myself

"Excuse me, what?" had something in her demeanor changed? She seemed to be looking at me differently.

"Nothing. I… I decided to blow the whistle once I became aware of what they were doing at Mount Massive. I saw… well, impossible things. Unfathomable evil being done in the name of I don't even know what. Every god awful man working there had different reasons, most were just in it to make a buck, but some were… enthusiastic."

"What do you mean by that?"

The morphogenic engines pods sprang to mind, the few experiments I saw first hand blistered in my vision:

'Hey Park, you're needed in procedure room number 379-B'

I went there. I was supposed to be monitoring the system status during a routine procedure. Some patient had a buildup of lead in his body, I hadn't know how that was plausible at the time. A team of surgeons had been called in to remove it. The thing started as usual, then I noticed that they had not anesthetized the patient. That was the first "experiment" I'd seen. They justified that it was something about the lead causing a neurological blockage or some bull shit.

The fact that seeing golf and softball sized clumps of lead being pulled from a screaming mans bleeding intestines had faded into the background was almost as unsettling as the fact of its happening at all.

"What I mean is that people were tortured there, in the name of pseudo-science and profit. Living breathing people whose only crimes were being forgotten by society and their loved ones were cut to ribbons and turned into raving lunatics by people who had promised to be their caregivers and protectors. Mount massive was a psychiatric hospital, people went there expecting to be helped."

Where had that come from? It felt as if that little corner of my brain that wrote my notes to Lisa had come awake again. It was that little sliver that had called Mount Massive a place of 'moral genocide'. That little sliver still remembered that I wanted to stop them.

Chealsy took a shallow sigh, then regained a concerned professionals voice of questioning "You said you had a wife and kids, where are they now?"

I looked back at her. She knew where this was going. She knew what… She. That bitch.

For a second I did nothing but look at the camera. Every ounce of regret and pain a man could possibly hold rushed at me. For good measure a metric ton of guilt crashed over me and a blizzard of paralysis settled over my head. I looked at the camera.

"They are dead."

The look on her face might have been the closest Chealsy ever came to telling someone she was sorry. Though it hardly mattered, as she continued on "How did they… pass on?"

It might have been agner that crawled across my skin, giving me goose bumps and setting my hairs one edge. It could have been regret, guilt, isolation, sadness, fear, grief. It could have been all of them.

"Lisa was shot. By a Murkoff employee. In front of our sons, Connor and Garrett. She died on a concrete floor before I had a chance to tell her goodbye."

Silence heavy enough to crush a man's sternum settled in the alley.

"...and" I continued on "Connor and Garrett were kidnapped and taken to some place just like Mount Massive. They were used in experiments just like the ones i tried to stop."

Chealsy held the camera, not moving, as if she expected me to say more. I wouldn't, I was done with this stupid idea. So done. So…

Something hot and wet streaked down my face. Lifting my right hand I reached up to my face only to find it soaked wet. Pulling my hand into view the I could see unmistakable clear sheen of tears coating my fingers.

I looked back at the camera. When had I started to cry?


	28. 28, So Close, yet So Far

AN: Ok guys, here's chapter 28. There's a bit of gore in this one, not much though. Also Wednesday of next week will be the last chapter (noooooo), just to let you know. Thank you for reading, and reviewing (for those of you who review). Also please enjoy the chapter.

***Miles***

**Where the hell have you been?**

The last of many bullet wounds were being mended by little clouds of black haze.

_Well excuse me your majesty._

**Nope, not excused.**

I was still strapped to a metal chair in the empty room. There had to be a gaggle of scientists hiding on the other side of the reflective glass window. It was only a matter of time before Eyebrows or one of his friend decided they were going to see how long I could be trapped underwater, or electrocuted, or how many times I could get shot, or how many organs they could start hacking away at before I died. Well, they would probably be more creative, they'd already done all of those.

_It seems that we're in a tight spot, doesn't it._

**No, really? I was starting to think that it was pretty nice over here. If we asked really nicely I'm sure that they would let us waltz out the front door, for good behavior they might even put us up at a hotel for a couple of nights while I get back up on my feet.**

_That was a bit overdramatic even for you_

**Oh bite me, just get us out of here, or tell me how to do it.**

_That will be somewhat complicated._

**I don't like where this is going.**

_Well…_

**What.**

_They seem to have wisened up and started using some… useful safety precautions._

**Like goddamn salt.**

_Exactly_

Before I focused too much on some acidic retort a couple of biohazard suited people walked in, being flanked by them was the same doctor who decided that shooting me with a handgun was a good idea. The bastard was a nasty piece of work, if I remembered hearing correctly- and I did- the electrocuting, the drowning, the stabbings, a stay in a walk in freezer, and umpteen other 'fun' tasks were his idea. Just from reflex I had a scowled the size of manhattan painted across my face at the sight of him.

He was still holding that damn tape recorder in his hand "Mr. Upshur, all of the evidence from your last battery of testing has disappeared. Do you feel any discomfort?"

"Piss off" saying that I'm in no mood to be answering this assholes questions is putting it lightly.

_He will be the first one we kill while escaping._

**Ghost, for once I agree completely.**

His caterpillar calibre eyebrows came crashing together in annoyance "The subject appears to be functioning at his full physical capabilities, we will proceed with the Paranormal Litmus Tests."

He went on babbling about what they were about to do to me. Without much thought I blocked them out, it only took until the fifth or so bout of torture for me to realize that I didn't want to know.

_As I was saying, before they walked in. They seemed to have learned a few lessons since our last encounter. Although its been some time since anyones used salt to trap me._

**About that. What the hell!? Your kryptonite is a table seasoning?**

_No, it's simply a very effective tool to contain me._

**How? And do I need to know about any other surprises?**

_Don't worry about it, if there's something that you need to know, you'll know._

**Oh, I feel so much better now. Thank you. **

_Very welcome._

It knew what sarcasm was, it just didn't care apparently.

"Everyone into positions"

While I'd tuned out the master and his puppets had been putting together quite a set. Everyone stood in their own little rings of salt, and on the ground sat what looked like a glorified remote control dustpan.

"Disable all of the EMP fields" The good doctor spoke out to some unseen person who was undoubtedly monitoring this all, then addressed his biohazard equipped lackies "whatever you do, do not move, do not attempt to leave the room, and under no circumstances should you address Mr. Upshur."

Well lookie there, I get to be referred to by my actual name, how endearing.

As they all settled into their places there was a change in the air. Probably their turning off of those stupid fields. I feel lighter, less like I'm being crushed by my own rib cage.

"Sir, the fields are disabled" a voice came from one of the biohazard suits in the room.

"Good, proceed with phase one."

Henchmen number one remotely clicked on his toy dust pan and steered it towards the ring of salt situated around my chair. The pan pushed through the circle.

_These people are profoundly stupid._

I glanced back up to Eyebrows.

For a second he just looked back, the faces of the other two people were implausible to see. I could only imagine that they were sweating in the silence. The doctor looked level at me.

_He doesn't think we're going to do anything_

"What, you think I'm going to do a little song and dance?" the sarcastic retort burst its way out before I had too long to consider what I was actually going to do.

The doctor spoke back into his recorder "the subject is immobile, there is no sign of paranormal activity."

Thoroughly miffed I took a second look at the cuffs securing my hands to the chair arms. They were metal, not leather that I could cut through. Breaking them might be plausible, if I wanted to pulverize my wrist in the process. They would heal, sure, but it would take a while. What if…

**How are your lock picking skills?**

_Adequate_

That would do.

Without too much concern about being seen a few tendrils of the swarm snaked their way from under my skin. Moving unhampered by any bullshit fields or my own apprehension I had them in the key holes of the handcuffs and turning tumblers in no time. I still had my eyes locked on the doctor when the cuffs clicked open. Without saying a word I stood up from the chair.

The man in the biohazard suit to my left shook like a leaf.

I hadn't even started to make things scary yet.

While I took my sweet time to step over the broken ring the all too fresh memory of the good doctor taking a scalpel to my lower intestine couldn't find its way out of my head. Gray clouds of nanobots shed from my every pour. Upon seeing a faint flinch flash over the doctors face I had to stop myself from picking the low hanging fruit and telling him he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"The subject has exhibited fine motor control of the swarm,"

The gray haze reached the edge of the salt and just like last time stopped cold at it, only to begin spreading around the ring like river water would a stone.

"The previously deterrent of sodium chloride is still serves as effective shielding"

As the swarm meet the edges of the outer ring a few slivers started to climb, one of the biohazard suits started breathing heavily enough to outdo an air compressor. Three small steps across the clouded floor and I was at the threshold of the doctors circle. The clouds reached the ceiling, two of the three fluorescent bulbs popped, dropping the room into just enough shadow to be completely disturbing.

The smug bastard who'd decided that injecting me with a couple dozen poison would be a good way to pass the time stood behind his pathetic little shield with an eat-shit grin just asking to be taught a lesson. Buzzing and a low hum were the noises predominating the room, somewhere below the two the crinkling of plastic from one of the biohazard suits was noticeable, if forgettable.

"The subject is capable of area effects, and is quite adept at causing extreme unease and a powerful sense of danger"

Sense of danger? What a twat.

I took a small look at the ring on the floor. Unceremoniously I scuffed it with the toe of my boot. The little white grains moved from their position

The circle was broken. In a second the doctors eyes flashed wide, real panic forced the arrogant air from his face. He hadn't really thought that I couldn't touch the salt myself, had he?

"Turn on the fie-!"

My fist cracked against his jaw. The fucker went to the ground, landing half in the black swarm, half in his pathetic circle. Ignoring the cloud I kicked him. In the gut, in the head, the face, a stomp to the knees, a snap of his shins. Not laughing now that its your bones being broken, are you?

The swarm dropped from a haze to a simple carpet of metal, they'd gotten their fields back up too late for the doctor; any strength from the Walrider was still there, just not the physical swarm. Grabbing the lapels of his lab coat I slammed the bloodied man into the one way glass that was the wall.

"Wha…..I-" blood dribbled from his broken nose, a tooth dropped from his swollen mouth.

Another thrash against the wall rattled a slobbering cough from his chest and cut out the breathless words. Losing the buzz of my machines left the room in silence, interrupted only by frantic pounding on the steele door that was the only entrance to this room. Over my shoulder the two biohazard suits battled each other for more space to grope at the locked door.

No one was coming to help them, Murkoff didn't have the decency to actually help people, especially not their own soulless employees.

The leaking and mangled doctor made a fine projectile. The three of them went down in a pile of limbs and panic.

A look up from the pile told me that the room was in lock down, the door was bolted shut, the glass was tempered and reinforced. No open air vents, even if they had been, there was no swarm to use. I looked back at the pile of men, one gave a half conscience groan. I've said it before, but fuck this place.

There had to be a way out, there always was.

_Patience, the chance will come._

**Hmph, the door looked like a pretty nice chance to me. But we blew it.**

_There will be another one, in the mean time…_

**What.**

_In the mean time we have guests._

I looked again at the heep on the floor. The one on the bottom still moved a little and I'm pretty sure that the doctor was still barely alive.

_We should give them the same attention they gave us._

I had time to kill. Besides, they deserved the worse and then some.

***Waylon***

"...any day now Micky" Chealsy paced the edge of the dock like a lion would its cage.

'Micky' her bigwig contact that was coming from god-knows-where was supposed to be showing up at some point today. I didn't know when, only that Chealsy said he'd be here and that we were waiting. While Chealsy paced the 'interview' from the other day still loomed over me.

A little life had been breathed into me, not much. But just enough for me to be sure that I actually wanted to post the footage. Sure I could act like it was because I wanted to make Lisa's death worth something, like it would be to see the company that murdered my family burn, but in reality it was simply because that was all I had left to do. It was the one goal left in my pointless life.

"...sorry Lisa" I told myself under my breath "you deserved better."

"Finally!"

Startled by the sudden noise I looked up. Chealsy stood at the edge of the little wooden dock staring at a small boat that was steadily coming closer.

"...hurry up, hurry up, hurry up…" she muttered as a couple of wayward fingers twitched in anticipation.

So, here came Micky, the man to call apparently.

The ship was but twenty yards out, fifteen, ten, five…

"Well if you're not a sight for sore eyes" he had an accent… Australian?Some type of odd British?

"It's about damn time" A bald man in his mid forties dressed in business casual and toting a single duffle bag stepped of the barley drifting ship as Chealsy began to nag.

"I had a hold up" he took a look at me "you must be our associate for this… case."

"I-"

"That's Waylon Park, more importantly lets get this show on the road" she began walking to I-don't-know-where.

Micky sighed in annoyance and gave a world class role of the eyes, muttering mostly to himself "over a decade of working together and still not an ounce of professional courtesy" before following. As I filled in behind them he said, to everyone this time "do you have any idea where we're going?"

"Nope" Chealsy told him without looking over her shoulder

"Then slow down, luckily for you I had the foresight to rent a hotel room, under a fake name of course."

"Great" she told him with the enthusiasm of a castrated dog "show us they way"

Without fanfare or a single comment he did.


	29. 29, Making History

AN: Hello and heads up, there is some (comparatively) light gore in this chapter. Also FYI, Mondays chapter will be the 'finale' and Wednesday will be the epilogue. And if anyone remembers the _very_ last scene of Whistleblower you might recognize it. Ok, enough of my blathering on thanks for reading (extra thanks for reviewing) and please enjoy the chapter.

***Waylon***

He lead us to a run down motel. The dead eyed clerk at the counter didn't so much as blink as the three of us walked in. Micky made a quick job of his checking in, getting his key with less than two sentences and a wad of cash. As we walked Chealsy's lack of chatter seemed to unnerve me more than the achingly familiar grimy run down hallways. Micky stopped at some door, A-25, unceremoniously unlocked it and walked in without a second thought.

I followed behind Chealsy without much enthusiasm. The room was dark and empty besides a rickety desk and dingy bed. Micky set his lone duffle bag on the bed and quickly unpacked an unmarked Laptop.

"Before we get started do you have any questions?" he asked me while booting up his computer

"Not now Micky, we need to get this show on the road" Chealsy butt in before I had a chance to comment.

Micky gave her a level stair.

He set his computer onto the desk, quickly typing in the address to Viraleaks.

Wait what? Why hadn't we just uploaded the stupid footedge in the first place? Why the hell did we have to wait until two weeks later?! Why did Lisa and Connor and Garrett have to die just for us to be able to upload the damn footage onto some website when we'd been bumming around on the internet for the last four days!

"Actually" I couldn't stop myself from commenting "why didn't we just do this at the very beginning?" I pushed down my rising realization.

Micky took notice "Vira Leaks is extremely... particular about the information it takes, especially after an incident they had a few years back" he collected the camera from a begrudged Chealsy and began to load the footage onto the computer

That wasn't a satisfying answer.

"As such only a few people have the know-how on how to upload. I understand that you were at Donalds in Colorado?"

"Yes." this still wasn't a good enough answer.

"Donald knows a lot of things about a lot of people, but he doesn't have very many friends. You see, the internet is like a hallway full of doors, if you open the right door you can convince anyone anywhere to do or think anything. But to open the doors you need the right key. You get the right keys from the right people. Donald didn't have that many. Luckily for you I have a skeleton key."

Donald didn't have enough friends to be useful and my family had to die because of it. Of course, of course something so inconsequential as how many people who would be willing to have a beer with crazy conspiracy theorist Donald would determine who lived and who died. Of course it would.

"Now that we have that sorted, you need to be sure about this" He set the camera next to the computer on the table. All that was left now was to upload the footage to the internet.

"You press that button, there's no going back," he continued "there's enough hard evidence in that video file to make a world of shit for our friends at Murkoff"

He stopped for a fraction of a moment, as if to let the decision I'd already made weigh heavily on me "You got out of Mount Massive alive, and we've done everything in our power to cover your tracks but our enemies are twitchy and malicious corporate paranoiacs with resources you're too moral to imagine."

I knew what they would do, I'd seen the worst they had, probably seen past what even Murkoff themselves thought they were capable of.

"You won't be the only target, anyone you care about, your wife, your child, they'll be nothing to Murkoff but ways to hurt you"

I stopped for a second, just staring at the screen in front of me.

He didn't know. He heard Chealsy say that I had kids, but he didn't know. He didn't know they were already dead, already been targeted. Already died, just to hurt me.

"I need you to understand the bridge you're crossing here. You will do irrevocable damage to the company, you might even get close to something like justice. But. Once you click upload, your life is over. Everyone you love is fucked."

They already were.

"But its the right thing to do. Is hurting Murkoff worth that much to you?"

There was the poignant little end to his speech. The final line meant to rally some righteousness against the corporation. There was no righteous fury against Murkoff, no urge to protect my already dead family. No reason to click upload other than to finish the empty quest I'd started on nearly a month ago when I first emailed Miles.

Nothing to do now but end it.

I clicked upload.

I shut the laptop.

Let the consequences be damned.

***Miles***

It had to be a day later and nobody had so much as thought about what to do with me here in this room. So far only one of the men had died, one of the biohazard suits. The doctor was currently in a puddle of his own piss and curled into the fetal position in a corner, he was getting off easy considering that he could only stay on the verge of death for so long while I had the pleasure being there for a straight week. The other biohazard suited man had become something of a practice dummy.

It was surprising really, how powerful the Walrider could be when I wasn't busy ringing it in. Even when the machine part of it was out of order. Which reminds me...

**So, how do you feel about telling me what exactly you are**

_...But we were having so much fun._

**Maybe. But you know how I just love story time.**

_I could just teach you how to exploit people's deepest seeded fears, that sounds like a good way to spend time._

**Which is why we've already done that. Now if you don't mind. What. Are. You.**

…

The stained and faded whiteness of the interrogation room swelled and warped until it distorted itself into an indistinguishable blob.

"Great, more messing with my vision bullshit"

"_Relax, you're the one who wanted to know"_

The gray sludge that was my field of view congealed into greens and black until a hazed over forest surrounded me. Laser strait pines stretched past the edge of my sight, each with coal black bark and deep green leaves. The forest floor was a deep mat of shed needle-like leaves. I'd only seen this place in old pictures and movies, but that combined with what I suspected about the Walriders past made me more then sure of where I was.

"The Black Forest, southwestern Germany"

"_I wouldn't call it my homeland, but it's close enough"_

While taking a few steps through the illusion it didn't seem like walking through Waylons dreams, or like getting information straight from the Walrider. No, this was just strange, like walking through a fun-house but instead of their being mirrors there were screens filled with clips of moments you'd half forgotten about. A year's worth of walking later and I found that I was at the edge of a little old timey German village, complete with a cart full of hay and cobblestone streets.

"Any reasons you're taking me for a ride on It's a Small World After All?"

"_Just watch, if you pay close enough attention you'll know everything you want to"_

After quieting back down it became clear that the sun was setting. A few lanterns hung above the doors of the shops and houses. Jeez, I know this is a rural European village, but they have electricity. Their foreign, not cave men.

"_Just keep watching"_

The narrow cobble street held a few people, most carrying water or lugging bundles of produce or firewood.

"We're not in Kansas, and it's not the twenty first century here. Is it"

"_No, now stop talking and start watching"_

Someones in a mood. The pathways cleared as the sun went down. The place was soon bathed in a combination of moon and lantern light, there were no living souls in sight. It all seemed quiet.

Until the scream.

A single high pitched wail of terror sliced the silence. Without having the time to flinch in reaction I found myself in a bedroom. On the only bed in sight was a young woman thrashing against the covers in a struggle to get up. Outside the growing noise of a mob rose up, more firelight then before streamed through the windows. Somehow the interior of the room managed to grow darker in spite of it. The woman screamed ever louder, only to have one desperate gasp abruptly cut off as the door to the room crashed to the ground. Anger and fear rolled off in waves from the people storming the room, as more entered a physically oppressive noise grew. It wasn't unlike the buzzing and screeching that had become so common place in my life, but this seemed deeper, more earthy and less refined.

A final few men ran in, all of them stopping at the sight of the woman on the bed. Moving my view from them to the woman I saw that the bed had been soaked in blood, all of which seeped from the raw exposed muscle tissue that had been the ladies chest. The final man to walk in was one dressed in simple priests garb. The unseen presence in the room that I had my suspicions about grew heavier until there was a literal fog in the air.

The father began speaking. I have no idea what he said, I don't speak german, but whatever it was it shook me to the core, and did the same to the proto-walrider. A shadowed figure elbow deep in the women's lungs began to look more and more solid until it broke away from the now dead girl and lost its solidity. The result looked something between a pale shadow and a heat wave. While the father was still in the heart of what I assumed to be a prayer the past-walrider congealed over a single man and began to fold itself into him.

The men near by were thrown into a panic, while it seemed like they knew what they were walking into, none of them had expected this. The priest yelled more and more frantically, trying desperately to finish what he had started before it was too late. Seeing the uncomfortably familiar process of having the Walrider decide that your skull looks like a nice place to vacation fold out in front of me set my stomach on edge.

The man possessed crumbled to the ground before the father finished shouting whatever he had started doing. All the onlookers began sheepishly holding the hunting rifles and clubs that they had brought in anticipation for what ever battle they thought they would be fighting. Who ever it was that played host to the Walrider took an hour long minuet to stand back up. He had his back to me, though based off the horrified faces of the men that had been next to him, something told me that there was something very wrong with him.

As much as I would have loved to stick around to see how this ended, my vision began to wobble just as the possessed man made a lunge for his former comrades, and cut out entirely at the onset of a larger fight. In the little pit of a panic I felt at the end, the last thing for me to see was the hollowed torso of the woman on the bed.

When that fiasco faded from my sight I still wasn't in the interrogation room. Instead a dismal gray landscape folded out before me. The sky was gray with dust and smoke, the ground was littered with gray powdered concrete, the few living plants in the area were covered in fall out. Any building in sight was literally half of what it used to be. For all I could tell it seemed pretty clear that I was standing in the bombed out remains of a little town. It could have been the same one from before, only fast forwarded a couple hundred years.

"Ok, I get the last part, but why show me-"

"_SSShhhhhh. This is important!"_

"Whoa okay then, never mind"

The village loomed as a forgotten shell of what it once was, completely devoid of life. Until a little military vehicle came pulling up. Moving literally right through me, it pulled to a stop over the last even patch of cobblestone as far as the eye could see. Out stepped three young men, telling by the obvious context clues this could be none other than World War Two. The man walking with the most urgency looked achingly familiar.

Upon reaching the smoking remains of a house the man in front said something. Even through the filter of another language and a gap of about seven and a half decades I knew that that voice belonged to Warnike, there was no doubt in my mind that that twenty something man was the living fossil that caused everything at Mount Massive.

Warnike and the other two rummaged around the debris for a while until one of them shouted something that caused the other two to come scurrying over like a couple of excited school children on christmas morning. The one that was there first stood in a crumbling skeleton of a building that looked like it used to be a church tower. He quickly revealed a heavy trap door latched shut that had been hidden under a now partially burnt away persian rug. The three of them had it opened in a short moment.

It took not long before it became clear that I was watching them descended into the room I was standing in, instead of climbing down and out of the same. Apparently the Walrider was into making jump cuts for dramatic effect.

The three young men climbed into the dingy little cellar, only to light a couple of lanterns they'd brought with them. Young Warnike made to inspect some shelving, while the other two did the same. After searching and researching each shelf Warnicke stopped cold in his tracks. On the shelf in front of him, behind a cluttering of books and knick-knacks, was a hip flask sized corked glass bottle. Warnike made a grab for it eagerly. It seemed empty inside, except that when viewed from just the right angle there appeared to be a slight sheen and a flickering dark patch. Warnike slid the bottle into the waistband of his pants and without a word drew a small service pistol.

It was over quickly for the two other men. Warnike couldn't have been a good shot when I'd seen him, but here he was young and they were in close quarters. He hadn't missed.

The darkened cavern drifted back into stained white as I saw the last of Warnike climbing the ladder to the outside. While I'd checked out no one had moved. Unsurprisingly.

_There, that was the short version_

**Of what? That before the nano bots you were a drag me to hell style demon?**

_No, I'm not so lowly._

**I don't know, that business in the village looked like it was straight from the set of The Exorcist.**

…

**And, what the hell was that all about?! Carving the heart out of a girl and repainting the sheets with her lungs! Damn.**

_I had my reasons_

**Like what? You were board?**

_Just how we both have our reasons for wanting to crush Murkoff._

**Um, no. I have very good reasons for stopping Murkoff, namely because their a psychotic, cartoonishly evil mega corporation that likes making money off of human suffering. **

_You don't know who she was, I had a very good reason that's not very far off from your justification for going against Murkoff._

**Yep. Murder the twenty something kid that lives all alone, she's definitely up to something.**

_That's hypocritical coming from you._

**Excuse me?**

_You were being morally righteous, and refusing to kill any of these Murkoff bastards unless I literally held your hand before. But now that you've been reminded how bad they are you're all for it._

**That's not the situation you were in at all.**

_That doesn't make my point any less true. You're only willing to go through with all of your threats because Murkoff made it personal._

**This coming from a monster that considers turning peoples kidneys into a smoothie as fun isn't that hurtful.**

_Don't pretend you don't enjoy it too. When you feel like it you're more creative than me. I would have ended the doctor with the first punch but you insist on keeping him alive to suffer._

**Only because he did the same thing to me ten fold.**

_That's what I mean right there, you only care when things involve you personally. You're not some altruistic reporter out for the greater good._

**I tell the people what they need to know, we can't let people get away with doing shit things to good people to make a buck. I'm just not willing to murder people left and right for it.**

_How the mighty have fallen then. This experience with Murkoff must be an eye opener then._

**That's enough of this. You got what you wanted, we're going for blood on Murkoff, now just drop it.**

_Only after you admit that you wanted to slaughter them all from the very start, but were only afraid to because you knew that you were too weak._

**Fuck off.**

_You know it's true._

The Walrider was gone back into the recesses of my mind after that. Looking down at the crumbled doctor I noticed that the bad taste left in my mouth by the afternoon nearly became too much to bear.

I kicked the shaking doctor "evil bastards" I kicked him again.

The man began sobbing to himself. He deserved worse, but petty wailing on him made me feel better in the meantime.


	30. 30, I'm Free?

AN: There'll be a long sappy AN Wednesday. All I can say is there is some gore in here and there are feels of the worst (best? if you're twisted) kind. There's an epilogue, just remember that.

***Waylon***

"Good Morning America." the hotel rooms dingy TV flickered with the morning news

"...Shocking footage was revealed overnight, secure sources have determined the clips to be authentic. Due to the graphic nature of some of the footage we advise that any small children or anyone with a weak stomach look away…"

The mildest thirty seconds of me walking down a hallway found its home on the TV screen.

"The Murkoff Corporation that funded this has declined to respond to our repeated-"

I clicked to another channel, CNN:

"...Horrifying secrets have come to light on the thought to be philanthropic Murkoff Corporation. Footage revealing human experimentation has been discovered, Pamela what are your thoughts on the legal-"

Fox:

"I don't see why this means we should regulate business even more!"

"Because, Glenn, if there are regulations protecting them, more people will come forward when their companies are doing such heinous things!"

"Ok, in this one situation the employee is in the right for his whistleblowing, but what about-!"

MSNBC:

"...Now for troubling news, Megacorporation Murkoff has gone too far. Footage revealing the meltdown of a human research facility has come to light. Our correspondent Patricia Maize is at their corporate headquarters in Salt Lake City. Patricia,"

"Thank you Dave, there was a recent suspected terror attack on the building behind me, all Murkoff personnel inside have refused to comment…"

BBC:

"The american based Murkoff Corporation has run into deep trouble. In light of the human experimentation that was revealed last night many vendors have refused to sell their pharmaceuticals. The regional executive for the UK has declined to comment."

NSC, CBS, and the rest of the alphabet that made up the news circuit all had the same song and dance. Murkoff was evil, they had proof, and no one at the company was commenting.

I'd done it. I'd won.

…

Then why didn't it matter?

I looked at the stained room around me. Chealsy was out with Micky, talking up someone about something. I was left alone. I looked again at the room around me.

Then I stood up. I walked from the room. Micky had left a wad of cash on the dresser, made a comment that I looked like hell and should probably get something to eat before he'd left. With the wad shoved into a loose pocket I went outside. I hailed a cab without much trouble. Lowering myself into the back seat I said, to my own surprise:

"Zeichner Mental Health hospital please."

The non-committal cab driver typed the name into a GPS.

It was about forty miles to the south east, situated in the californian mountains.

As the cab rolled onto the street I had to wonder about what I thought I was doing.

I was done. There wasn't a reason for me to wallow around, dodging Murkoff assassins until I eventually died in some hobble. There was no way I'd be free to go one living. Micky had said that much himself. I wouldn't move on, couldn't pick up and start over. My life was finished.

Why not go out while being another thorn in Murkoffs side? When Chealsy and Micky got back they would immediately think that Murkoff had shown up and done off with me. Chealsy would go howling to the police as loudly as possible now that Murkoffs credibility was out the window. I bet hundreds of people were doing that very thing right now. The people at the asylum had to have family. The workers there, the patients; all of them had parents, a few had siblings. Some might have even had a wife and children.

A wife and children.

Even if there was no one who cared about the men in the asylum, there had to be someone close enough and opportunistic enough to act like they cared, if only for some settlement or for money. Murkoff would burn whether I was there or not. Chealsy could spin a story better than I could, she could make me a figurehead to rally behind. A martyr for sacrifice, I was more useful dead. Besides, if I stuck around I would just ruin everything I'd worked for.

The terrain grew more rocky, we had to be getting close.

Closer to the end I suppose.

A building loomed in the distance, growing closer more rapidly than I had expected.

This is where my sons had died, this was where they'd started some other god-awful experiment. Three Blind Dreamers, they'd called it. It would just be Mount Massive again. If I died on their doorstep someone might decide to come running in a little faster, they might even stop Murkoff in time to prevent a thousand more senseless deaths.

The cab pulled into the well decorated drive of the facility. I handed the driver the wad of bills, apparently it was enough because when I stepped from the car he just drove off without a word.

This place was less of Mount Massives oppressive gothic brick and more seventies style steel and glass. I walked through the front door. Inside was a clinical lobby, the walls lined with seating and the occasional decorative plant. From the left wall jutted out a help desk, staffed by a single secretary and lone security guard. They saw me as soon as I entered.

Without much heed to how I must look, being unshaven and unbathed for a week, I walked to the counter.

"May I help you?" asked the confused woman from behind the table. The guard in the back looked uneasy as I swayed in place.

There was no good way to go about this, so I said simply "I am Waylon Park"

Thier reaction told me they knew who I was.

***Miles***

It didn't matter how hard I hit the glass, I wouldn't have enough force to break it. I looked to the heap of bleeding bodies on the ground. Though If I weighed four times as much…

The foul smell of my handy work permeated the air. Picking up one of the corpses wasn't hard, the second wasn't difficult. The third would be an issue. It took some adjusting of the weights before I had an arm free. With a man slung over each shoulder I fumbled the third into an awkward bridal style.

Here goes nothing…

Backing to the far end of the room I readied myself for a lunge. Running for as much speed as I could get in fifteen feet I charged at the window. Crashing at full force the ribs in the bodies around me popped, my head slammed against the glass, and a thin "X" of a fracture formed. A few more might do the trick.

I geared up again for a run.

The body on my left shoulder made a wet thud on the center of the X. The break widened, spiderwebbed fractures raced across the surface. So close. A last charge would do it.

Throwing every ounce of my force behind the charge I found myself falling through a shower of glass shards. I landed on the doctors rotting body and had the bleeding biohazard suits covering my back from falling glass.

The observation room stood empty of people. A small control panel sat tucked away in a corner. Murkoff, for all their bureaucratic assholery, had everything nicely labeled. Switching off the EMP field in the interrogation room took nothing more than flipping a switch. The swarm rose from the ground and came back towards me.

With that problem solved I took a single look at the steele door leading from the observation room. With the swarm back at my disposal the door was insultingly easy to peel from its hinges. Still with no people in sight I took a step into the hall. Looking left then right I could see that the hall was blocked of, marked in biohazard tape.

To my left I walked, imagining all the punishments that this place deserved. All the punishments they were about to receive.

***Waylon***

My left cheek ached from the right hook the door guard gave me, but I was mostly in working condition as I sat in a little padded cell. I wonder how long it will take for them to kill me? Or if they even will. If they did they'd have to find a way to hide the fact that they murdered the man who blew the whistle on them. Assuming the higher ups even cared anymore. They might not have anything left to lose.

The door to my cell swung open to reveal a man in a suit flanked by a handful of security guards. In his hands the man held a file folder that overflowed with papers, as he spoke he seemed to be reading off of them.

"Waylon Park, contract employee at Mount Massive Insane Asylum and Main Systems Engineer. Caused a breach in security protocol and was forcibly enrolled in the asylum, later volunteered for Morphogenic Engine testing. Married with two male children, graduated cum laude from Berkly, assessed to be a low risk employee. Why'd you do it?"

What?

The man passed a glance to a couple of guards on his right, they moved to either side of me.

"Why go through all this trouble Park? You couldn't hope to gain anything."

What game was he playing, why would he asking what I was thinking? Probably just fishing for ammunition to destroy my credibility, or that of the tapes.

"I asked you why." he ruffled the folder in his hands, giving off the air of someone who expected people to jump when he told them to.

When I failed to answer he nodded again at one of the guards who happily landed a punch to my temple.

"Why"

Dazed, I opted not to answer.

"Move him to an interrogation room. Find , tell him he can do whatever he wants, just make sure Park doesn't see the light of day"

The guards to my side each clinched one of my shoulders. These men were twitchy and aggressive, it wouldn't take too much agitating to make one of them pull a gun.

"Put him in cell block…" a phone started ringing with an nondescript tone, the man fished through a pocket "hold on a second"

He answered "hello… you what?... shit, shut it down and follow the plan... I don't care just don't fuck anything up, and I'll be right there."

The man snapped back at the guards "what are you doing just standing there? Move!"

The two men at my side grumbled in compliance and started walking. What had that been about? Oh well, it didn't matter much, probably some psychotic experiment gone wrong. Again. These people didn't learn.

Being shoved down a hall flooded with fluorescent light I worked out how this would end. The guard to my left seemed more irritable than the other, a quick grab for the gun at his side would be more than enough to provoke a deadly reaction. Taking a last breath I readied myself, steadying my shaking hand I began to move

Only to be tossed to the side by a panicked man running down that halls.

"The hell was that for!" the guard on my right yelled after him. The man didn't stop for a reply.

Recovering from the collision I glanced to where the man had ran from. Inspite of the lights the hall grew darker. The empty black screeched with the buzz of machines as it grew closer.

"No" I heard myself say.

No, this can't be here. How did- it didn't make sense-I

"What the shit is that!" the guard on my left looked back into the swarm growing in the hall. The other man ran while the first froze at the alien sight. I didn't dare move, this way out would be quick if anything. The deafening cloud came barreling down on me. This was it, I was finally…

Finally standing in the same hall I had been, only sans guard and plus one pile of liquidized organs.

Really? Now that I was actually trying to end it I couldn't? I'd been fighting to stay alive through I-don't-even-know how many death traps, and not I couldn't even get the goddamn Walrider to kill me? How did I manage to fail at death?

Without option I went down the hall, there had to be something I could do. Literally anything would work. Only half the lights in the hall has withstood the swarm. The fact that the Walrider was here meant that Miles- or what was left of him- couldn't be far behind. If I caught him in a good mood I might be able to talk him into helping me. Assuming I couldn't get the staff to oblige me first.

I looked to a red brown stain on the wall. There might as well have been a trail, though if I waited too long the path of bodies would mean nothing.

***Miles***

The man hiding under the desk in the corner had spent his week skinning a man and then measuring the different speeds at which the skin grew back with different creams. He'd enjoyed the skinning parts the most. The smug bastard even thought that he'd outdone me by running into the room and hiding. I wasn't stupid, I knew he was in here. Walking to the flimsy desk I flipped it to the side.

Holding the man in place couldn't be easier, seeing his eyes widen in horror and disbelief was almost enough to make me think twice about killing him. What little of the swarm that I'd kept with me made a quick job of peeling the skin from his muscle, just as he had done to some anonymous man a moment ago. Not bothering to put him out of his misery I dropped the shrieking ball of bloodied and exposed muscle to the ground. He'd bleed out in a few minutes.

I'd let the Walrider out and in control of the bulk of the swarm, I had wanted to make this personal for a few of the more nasty people in the building. It didn't take long though, for the Wallrider to come speeding back with news:

_Waylon is in the building, looking for you_

Then it was gone again, back out to enjoy itself.

How had waylon gotten here? How did he even know I was here?

A few other questions jumbled through my head as I went down the hall.

Where would he even be in this place? I was even getting a little bit lost.

While I strolled through the building I took a minimal amount of time to stop and end a few people who caught my attention. After three more Murkoff workers got their just desserts courtesy of me, one man in particular caught my attention. Some man in a plain gray suit, name wasn't important, he was a company bigshot. Knew about all sorts of immoral going ons. There was a fear their, fear of not just me, but of some other Murkoff meddling in what they didn't understand. 'three blind dreamers' he was thinking about.

I'd have to deal with them after I found Waylon. The gray suit ran off down a hall, I followed without too much urgency. He wouldn't be that hard to find, especially if i just sicked the Walrider on him like a hunting dog.

***Waylon***

Any hope of finding death through luck was gone. Of all the halls I walked down I found nothing but corpses and screaming staff. If only things had been this easy the first time around. Because irony was a cruel and soulless mistress I came to stop in front of a lobby. The circular desk in the center had a sign hanging over it:

"Pediatric research wing" I read outloud.

This must have been where they… must have been where they murdered Connor, murdered Garrett. Walking to the center of the lobby I couldn't stop myself from reading the directory signs:

"Dormitory wing. Clinical area. Preparation rooms. Operating rooms."

Every inch of skin on my body slithered in place. Operating Rooms. I didnt want to know what they did, but my brain wouldn't stop supplying images.

They could have been vivisected. Injected with chemicals and set out for a few days just to see what happened. Gotten caught up in whatever "blind dreamer" project I'd read about. Hung out to die for the sake of 'progress'.

Bile rose up, forcing its way from my stomach to the floor beneath my feet. This is where they ended. I should have been here to save them. Distracted, it only just registered on me that some kid was looking through the windows of the door leading to the dormitory.

Could that be Connor! No, he was taller, shaved head. Brown eyes. Actually he looked nothing like Connor, it'd just been wishful thinking. The boy ran off down a hall once he realised I'd seen him. Poor thing had to be terrified. I had to leave this place, had to go anywhere but here.

I had to-

"Park!"

It was the man with the file folder from before.

"You're a pain in the ass you know that?" he had a gun. He had a gun! This was it, I could finally get out of this damned life. For the first time in half a month something resembling a hobbled and twisted version of happyness soaked its way into my mind.

"I don't even care what you thought you were doing with you're fucking hero complex back at Mount Massive, but whatever you think you're doing here is over."

He pulled back the firing pin on his gun- an old timey revolver. Probably an antique from above some big shots desk.

"It's your fault the Wallrider's out of Mount Massive. It wouldn't be rampaging here if it weren't for you. Must be great having this much blood on your hands, after all you did to stop it."

I already knew I fucked everything up "Get on with it!" I yelled in spite of myself.

Without so much more ceremony than a narrowing of his eyes he shot me.

A bullet ripped through my shoulder.

A wailing screech grew from the silent void left from the roar of the gun. Another shot.

One through the gut.

The lights swelled, half of them burst. I was on the ground. Why was I still here? I was almost gone, almost free.

A last shot, through my chest. Can't breath. Can't feel anything.

The man fell dead next to me. The swarm. Miles, right there. So much noise.

"Stay with me god damn it"

"No..." I was free. I would be with Lisa. Dead and free from this insanity. I'd be with the boys.

They were here now. I could see them. There at the doors.

Behind them was the bald child.

No.

There were here!

"Waylon!" my name seemed lost on me.

There were my boys. Right there.

"Dad!"

There were my boys. They were alive.

...Alive.

"Dad!"

***Miles***

Waylons kids were screaming through their tears.

I took a knee between the shredded remains of the gray suit and Waylon. He couldn't be dead, not after all of this, not with them right there. I put a hand down, looking for a pulse.

Nothing.

I took him by the shoulder. Shook as hard as I could.

"Waylon! Waylon, wake up!"

He wasn't waking up. Ever. He'd been shot three times, once in the chest probably through the diaphragm. The wound to the shoulder was still bleeding out fast enough to tell me it'd hit an artery. He wasn't coming back from that.

The boys. What were their names. Connor, Garrett. The boys were sheet white, dressed in hospital gowns, shaved of head, stitches were visible here and there. I looked again at Waylons remains on the ground. They shouldn't see him like this.

"...Come one. Come here"

I motioned for them to come closer.

The kid standing behind them that I didn't recognize ran off. Connor looked like he was thinking of following him.

"Woah there…" I'm sure I seemed like the most trustworthy man on the planet, what with being covered in blood and having a large black cloud cloaking half my body "It's me. Miles. Your dads friend" I stepped between them and the body. This was the single worst place to be having this conversation.

"We need to get out of here" I started pulling the swarm back in, it wasn't helping the mood.

_Isn't this an interesting turn of events._

**Not now.** Waylon had just been gunned down by some bastard I should have killed earlier. I was not about to entertain the Walrider with some stupid-ass conversation.

Connor gave a little quivering "No…"

I held out a hand and tried again "come on" despite my own rage I had to at least look calm. Freaking out now wouldn't help anything.

Connor took a small step back. Just before he broke into a backward run Garrett made a sudden move, grabbing my hand.

"I want to go home" the words were choked out between sobbs.

Seeing his brother warm up to me made Connor slowly came closer. Trying my best to shield them from seeing Waylon I shepherded them into the hallway. This had gone to shit faster than usual.

I made a mental note to the walrider:

**Make sure there are no surprises on our way out.**

_Understood._

The hall grew darker for a moment, startling the boys, but otherwise doing no harm. The walk out seemed to last for years, though it did end with our eventual arrival in the main lobby. The gray and blue colored room was free of the grime and viscera that caked the inner halls. If I were a poet I might pretend that this was an omen, but I'd seen too much shit to pretend that one clean room meant that there was going to be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Without wasting my time to take one last look at the place I walked out the front door with Connor and Garret in tow.

The poor kids, they'd lost two parents to this. It was even worse that they weren't the only ones who'd ended up shit creek because of Murkoff.

_More reason to take them apart brick by brick._

The Walrider had returned and it wasn't wrong.

I walked us over to the employee parking lot. I would get the kids somewhere safe. Then I would personally paint the walls with every Murkoff executive and scientist I could get my hands on.


	31. 31, Into the Cold

***Miles***

Chealsy did some digging, it turns out that Waylons parents lived in a small Iowa farming town, which is why I'm standing in knee deep snow and knocking on an elderly couples front door.

Hearing someone shuffling towards the door I took a second to say a few final words to Connor and Garrett.

"Ok you two, be good to your grandparents" they huddled in their jackets against the cold "and don't worry, you two are going to be fine. If there's ever any trouble I can come running, ok?"

They stayed silent. I was doing a bang up job on reassuring them. From the inside I heard someone on the verge of opening the door.

Saying goodbye to the kids for the last time I made myself scarce. As I crouched behind the neighbors shrubbery I stole a glimpse of the elderly Parks front door. A man, apparently grandpa Park, went in for a bear hug as soon as he saw the boys, a twiggish woman came up behind him. She seemed overjoyed as well.

A day ago Chealsy had called them and tried to explain as gently as plausible why their grandkids were going to be dropped off on their doorstep in the middle of winter. It hadn't ended well and there would probably be a police report attached to it, but at least the kids had a stable home now. That wasn't even close to good enough after they'd seen both their parents killed in front of them, but it was the best I could do.

After I'd left the Zeichner facility and gotten in contact with Chealsy she clued me in on the fact that Murkoff was going down the crapper as a company. Waylon released the tapes before he'd died. It was three days later and all the major networks were still running the story. Chealsy had become something of a spokesperson for the footage given that Waylon was dead and I was… basically an un-person.

Anything with my name on it had been undone by Murkoff while they had me locked up. As far as anyone was concerned Miles Upshur never existed. Of course that left the problem of the other footage. Once the story leaked the film from my camera started appearing online, apparently someone had the original camera, or somehow gotten to Donalds computer. A few networks had clued in on it, though some people doubted its authenticity, most believed it. The idea of a second unknown cameraman sparked the publics imagination. It was probably better that way. Waylon would be remembered as a hero who sacrificed himself to protect the forgotten, while the second camera man could be whatever anybody wanted: a single brave soul, a friend of Waylons, another whistleblowing employee, or possibly even a reporter in over his head.

The boys had been taken inside leaving me alone on the frozen street.

Murkoff may had been ruined as a company, but there were still men out there who would just recreate it when given the chance. People beyond the reach of the law. The hidden men at the top with no accountability who had orchestrated the whole thing. The ones who needed to pay.

_Oh, they'll pay_

**Yes they will, and I'll be the one to collect the debt.**

There were men to be stopped, people to be avenged, and a society to be protected. I walked off into the cold.

I had a job to do.

AN: So here's the sappy AN at the end of the story. First off thank every single one of ya'll for reading, it's been a crazy ride and seeing the viewing traffic to the story kept the chapters coming. For everyone who reviewed, those comments mean the world to me as a writer, scratch that, they mean more. I don't think I could say how much they really mean. I hope ya'll enjoyed reading as much as I did writing, and tell me what you think. Miles and Waylon got their revenge on Murkoff, but they lost everything, their family, friends, sanity, and lives. Do you think it was worth it? Or do you not? Let me know in the reviews


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